


Something in the Darkness Lurks

by venea_taur



Series: Windy City Musketeers [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Misunderstandings about mental illness, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 01:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 129,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13423899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venea_taur/pseuds/venea_taur
Summary: Aramis might have a stalker but it could be a figment of his over-tired, depressed mind. He's had a rough year and it doesn't look like it's going to get better anytime soon. How will his brothers help him? Will they believe what he's seeing? When they find no evidence, what are they to do? Does he listen to instinct or place his trust in his brothers?





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Although this story is a part of the Windy City Musketeers series, I don't think that you need to have read the other stories to understand what's going on because the first draft of this story was written before I started on the other stories. They do, however, fill in some blanks. 
> 
> I'd like to thank Issa for beta reading this story. Her feedback has done much to improve the story and help me to see areas that weren't working. Any remaining errors are my own.

Aramis is helping Porthos to get his shirt back on when the nurse reminds him of the cut on his arm. He’d quickly bandaged it back at the crime scene but has since forgotten about it, even as blood is soaking the bandage and slowly trickling down his forearms to drip on the floor. Porthos might have said something if he wasn’t dealing with his bruised ribs and a dislocated shoulder. Athos and d’Artagnan are at the crime scene still, wrapping up the details after their mission gone wrong.

“To be honest, I hadn’t completely forgotten about it,” he explains with an easy smile.

“I bet,” Porthos says, voice tight with pain, but a lilt of humor present nonetheless. “You were just waiting to take care of it yourself at home.” He winces as Aramis pulls the shirt down, accidentally jarring his ribs and shoulder. 

“Sorry,” Aramis mutters, pulling his hands away so he doesn’t hurt the man anymore. Porthos puts his free hand on Aramis’ shoulder to calm the younger man. Before he can speak, the nurse interjects herself into the conversation.

“Don’t like us here,” Megan, the nurse, asks with a teasing smile. She waits patiently as Aramis removes his jacket, carefully threading his wounded arm through the now ruined sleeve. 

“He’s a little adverse to hospitals, you could say,” Porthos says. They’re established here, being not too far from the Musketeer station. It’s the primary hospital for the task force, but Megan hasn’t often treated them. 

“I have no problem with hospitals. I merely didn’t realize it was bleeding this badly.” It’s not a problem he has with hospitals or even doctors. He just doesn’t have the best of luck given his numerous illnesses that tear their ugly heads at random and inconvenient moments. Not every doctor and nurse understood that. 

“And Porthos,” Aramis says, taking a seat next to him on the bed as Megan directed, “you know that I am more than capable of dealing with a wound like this.” 

“On your arm? Your dominant one at that?”

“I’m ambidextrous, don’t you know?”

“First I’ve heard of it.” Porthos chuckles.

“I’m sure I put it on my resume to Treville and I know you snuck into his files to have a look.”

“You’re not ambidextrous if you can only shoot with both hands. You’ve got to be able to do more than that.”

“I can do way more with both hands than shoot a gun. Just ask the ladies.” Aramis unconsciously gives Megan a wink. While the two have been bickering, she’s cut off the impromptu bandage and cleaned the wound. It’s not a bad cut, but it is a few inches long and a little deeper than she expected. Her cleaning the wound cause the bleeding to pick up. She grabs a small stack of gauze pads, putting them on the cut, and grabbing Aramis’ free hand to put pressure on the wound while she gathers the needed supplies. She blushes at the wink and smiles at their conversation. They’re the liveliest of her patients so far today.

“That’s going to need stitches. I’ll have to go get the doctor and start a chart for you,” she explains, setting the supplies on the table nearby.

“Stitches, Aramis. Would you’ve been able to handle that at home,” she hears Porthos ask Aramis on her way out. She misses the response, but she’s sure the man had a retort ready. 

Hours later, after their wounds were tended to and they’d returned to the station to deal with the paperwork, they are all finally back home. The four share a single large house purchased by Athos using graduation money from his parents that he’d invested thanks to the skills he learned earning his MBA. He’d bought the four-bedroom house mostly because he liked the area, a quiet neighborhood in Lake Bluff, as well as the den. That he might have housemates hadn’t occurred to him. Porthos and Aramis had rather abruptly become housemates when the two were evicted after the landlord at their complex grew tired of complaints about Aramis’ PTSD. There was no way he could turn them out to a hotel and more apartment hunting, not with Aramis’ PTSD a serious issue at the time. d’Artagnan was the last to join them nearly two years ago but fit perfectly into the team as well as the fourth bedroom. 

Currently, they are resting in the living room after a dinner of take-out. Porthos was in no condition to cook and none of them felt like eating leftovers after their difficult day. Athos sits in his favorite armchair, well-worn from hours of late night ponderings and worried frenzies over his friends. d’Artagnan is stretched out on the love seat texting with his younger siblings still stuck at home, his long legs bent and hanging over the edge of the armrest. Athos has told the young man to not to that several times because it breaks down the furniture. Now he does so rarely, realizing how much he’d started sounding like his mother.

Porthos is lying on the couch, his shoulder icing, and head resting in Aramis’ lap. Aramis, never one to simply lie still, is fiddling with a logic puzzle toy, his own injury carefully wrapped in white gauze. He would need to be careful showering for a week but overall had gotten off easy.

“How’re the ribs doing,” Athos asks Porthos. He sets his phone aside to look at the man.

“They’re fine, so long as I don’t move around much,” Porthos answers, stopping his game on his phone. Their reconnaissance mission hadn’t quite gone belly-up, but it had certainly taken an unexpected turn when three men came charging at them wielding a knife in each hand. The closest to the action, Porthos and Aramis, had sprung into action, both taking the brunt of the attack. It might’ve been worse, if not for an expertly executed tackle from Porthos that took down the last man who was aiming for Athos’ back.

“Make sure then that you take it easy,” Athos says. “By the way, you’re off duty for at least a week and then on desk duty until you’re cleared by the doctor.”

“My favorite,” Porthos says sarcastically.

“Does Louis know about our setback today,” Aramis asks idly. Louis Bourbon is mayor of Chicago after winning a third term on the basis of the success of his special task force created to ease the pressure off the police by taking on long-term, dangerous investigations into major crime. Most of their investigations deal with serial killers, mob bosses, illegal weapons, and drug rings. Anything that might take longer than a month and stretch the police force too thin is sent to Treville’s special task force, jokingly named the Musketeers by Louis during a press conference where he was touting their success.

Athos’ team is one of nine. Living together as they do is not customary but it works for them. They’ve come to be a close team and balance each other out in ways that have helped them to become the top team. 

“Treville called him soon after so he wouldn’t hear about it on the news again,” Athos says. “He wasn’t thrilled when he heard about our takedown of that drug ring on the TV before hearing from us. I don’t think he was happy about the situation today, but Treville assured him we’ll get it taken care of.”

They pass the remainder of the evening with idle conversation, none really having much desire to do anything after a difficult long day. When Porthos begins to snore, Aramis wakes him and they help him up to his room, standing close as he’s grown stiff from lying still for hours.

The rest of the week passes slowly for Porthos, who is stuck at home. Their doctor knows them well and tells him that until he doesn’t hiss with simple movements, he can’t return to work. The other three are busy, not only filling in the gap from their wounding teammate but also fixing the mess from their botched surveillance mission on Tuesday, not to mention keeping Porthos from doing anything that might extend his time off duty.

It is when Aramis is walking to catch the train after a late night at the office that he first has the sense that he is being observed. Common sense and his training tell him not to openly look around for his watcher. Instead, he keeps his usual pace and glances about, trying to catch a shadow or a reflection in a shop window. Though it is nearly midnight and the street is well lit, he is still unable to catch a glimpse.

Perhaps, he thinks, it is a fluke. He is tired and irritated from having to stay late. Treville has assigned him to be the liaison with the police this quarter and it is causing him a lot of extra work. The police aren’t incompetent by any means, but they are much less skilled than the Musketeers. Being a Musketeer means, in part, earning a masters in an approved field such as criminal psychology, psychology, sociology, etc. Their training is more intense and mentally challenging. Not just the average person can be a Musketeer and that’s what sets them apart. Largely, they are an experiment in law enforcement but Aramis has heard few complaints and most stem from the taskforce recently opening itself to women. The police are also often stretched beyond their capacity. Not to mention, their forensics team is terrible with evidence. It is a wonder that any criminal is convicted of even the most mundane of crimes.

Between the tiredness and the irritation, it is easy to feel twitchy, he reasons. With a glance at his watch, he picks up his pace, realizing that if he doesn’t, he will miss the train and have to wait an hour for the next. That would do nothing to help his day along. More than anything, he wants to be home. The others are likely in bed already, which is fine with him because that is his plan as well. Sleep will make everything better. And the fact that tomorrow is Friday and he has the weekend off.


	2. From Good to Bad to...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just an average workday until they hear a cry for help. Then Aramis starts to wonder what else is going to happen today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Issa for beta reading this story. Her feedback has done much to improve the story and help me to see areas that weren't working. Any remaining errors are my own.

He awakes to the smell of bacon. Porthos is up and probably shouldn’t be cooking. Aramis pulls himself from his warm bed to go investigate. The man is still recovering from a dislocated shoulder and bruised ribs. And the last Aramis knew moving still pained the man meaning he isn’t supposed to move, as per doctor’s orders.

Trudging down the stairs, still sleepy he catches himself quickly with a hand on the railing as his foot slips and he nearly lands butt first on the last step. The movement is more than enough to fully wake him and send his heart racing slightly. That would’ve been a sure way to ruin the morning.

“Porthos,” he calls out walking into the kitchen, “you’re still recovering. You shouldn’t be in here cooking.”

“It’s fine,” Porthos says, not looking up at him as he focuses on the skillet in front. “I’m being careful. The arm is still secured tightly, not moving a millimeter. I haven’t felt so much as a twinge since I started.”

“I’m sure,” Aramis says, looking over the man carefully. His arm is still tightly braced and Porthos is being careful not to jar it in his movements around the kitchen.

“I’m fine. You should go get ready before d’Artagnan gets up.” 

“You shouldn’t be up cooking for us. We can get something together.”

“Nonsense. I couldn’t stand to sit around for another moment, let alone lie awake in bed. Now, go back on upstairs and get ready. Athos is already up and d’Artagnan will be soon. If you don’t get moving, they won’t have left you a scrap.”

“I should help you. You’re working one handed.”

“And doing fine. Breakfast is already halfway done. Now go, before I make sure that they leave you nothing.” Porthos moves his spatula in Aramis’ direction, using it to add emphasis to his words.

“Fine.” Aramis puts his hands up and turns around. “Don’t blame us when you’re sore and stuck on the couch today.”

Aramis returns to his bedroom in time to get in the shower before d’Artagnan. Predictably, the younger man hasn’t risen yet. That suited Aramis just fine. They’ve yet been able to get d’Artagnan in the habit of taking a quick shower and so having to wait on him meant either taking a cold shower or skipping it. He knocks on Athos’ door. The older man opens it quickly, a towel wrapped around his waist.

“He’s going to be late again,” Aramis says.

“I’ll make sure he’s up,” Athos grumbles walking past Aramis down to the younger man’s room, wet hair roughly toweled dry of most of its moisture and scattered messily. Each of them has tried to wake d’Artagnan in the morning but the young man only seems to respond to Athos’ gruff wake-up call.

“Tell him Porthos is making breakfast.”

Athos grunts his acknowledgment. As he is shutting the bathroom door, he hears Athos yell out their youngest team member’s name, adding the words breakfast and Porthos. Without a doubt that will wake the man. 

In less than 15 minutes, Aramis is showered, dressed, and back downstairs where Athos is in the middle of eating breakfast and Porthos is cooking a fresh batch of pancakes.

“See, told you I could get it done,” Porthos says as Aramis takes a seat across from Athos at the island. He sets down a plate of eggs, bacon, and pancakes in front of the man. 

“How could I ever doubt you,” Aramis says with a smile, digging into the plate. 

They eat in relative silence until d’Artagnan comes down the stairs, rushing with heavy footsteps. By then, Athos is finished and is helping Porthos in cleaning up. 

“You have fifteen minutes to eat if you want to ride in with us,” Athos says. d’Artagnan doesn’t hesitate or argue in sitting down at the island to start eating a plate of food that Porthos has kept warm for him.

“Fifteen minutes? He could probably down a couple stacks of these pancakes in less than half that time,” Aramis says as he finishes up the fruit in his bowl. 

“I’m sure he could, but I’m also sure he doesn’t want to get indigestion again,” Athos retorts. They all remember the last time. It was after a long day where they’d had little time to catch a minute to get a quick bite to eat. Starving, d’Artagnan had nearly eaten half a pizza in ten minutes. Within minutes, he’d dropped his pizza slice mid-bite and they watched as his face paled and a sweat broke out on his forehead. Before they knew it, he was gone from the kitchen. They found him kneeling in front of the toilet in the downstairs bathroom. He never did throw up that night, but he didn’t go far from the bathroom and when he finally did, it was only with a lot of coaxing and a plastic bucket nearby. Initially, they thought he was ill, but with some careful prodding from Aramis, they discovered it was merely indigestion. It had done a lot to slow the younger man’s notorious eating habits.

d’Artagnan glares at Aramis between bites. He never does like to be reminded of that night, in part because it was his own actions that led to his misery and his friends’ worry.

“When are you back to work, Porthos,” d’Artagnan asks between bites. 

“Early next week, hopefully. Any longer and I might go stir crazy around here.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we,” Aramis says. Finished eating, he cleans up his own dishes and the last remaining pans from cooking. 

Porthos tries to shoo them out of the kitchen, but Aramis and Athos keep working until they have the dishwasher loaded up and the pans scrubbed and dried. They finish getting ready and are heading out the door just as d’Artagnan rushes down the steps to join them.

“How’s it going with the police,” d’Artagnan asks on their way out.

“Terrible and I have another meeting with them today.” Aramis turns to look at the younger man as they walk down the porch.

“What’s so bad about it?”

“Oh, just wait until it’s your turn. You’re lucky that you’ve not come up in the rotation yet. If it’s not the near daily meetings with them that gets you or the different reports that have to be filed, then it’s the random meetings, the trying but partly inept sleuthing, and the overzealousness. It’s a nightmare and you’re guaranteed to hate every moment of your quarter.”

“If it’s so bad, then why do we still do it,” d’Artagnan asks.

“Oh, sometimes we get something valuable,” Athos adds. “It’s not often and they usually don’t know what they have, but it’s sometimes helpful.”

“Truthfully, though, we do it to satisfy Richelieu. As the police superintendent, he was none too thrilled about the creation of the Musketeers nor that they are out of his jurisdiction. This keeps us just slightly beholden to him,” Aramis explains.

“Or so he thinks,” Athos says.

Aramis is prepared to make another comment when he hears someone screaming. They’re near the downtown, just minutes from the station. Instinct pushes him to run, with Athos and d’Artagnan following. He follows the screaming, eyes scanning his surroundings for the source. Then he sees it, across the street, empty save for three people, is a young woman and her son and a bold purse snatcher. Aramis bolts across the street, heedless of the traffic and the cars that screech to a halt, narrowly avoiding running him over. 

He yells out on his way and the thief glances up, then begins his snatching efforts with more vigor. Just as Aramis crosses the street, the thief makes one final effort, pulling on the purse while pushing back at the young boy. His ploy works as the mother lets go of the purse to try to catch her son but she’s too slow and he falls back, stumbling on short, unsteady legs.

It all happens so quickly that Aramis doesn’t remember a conscious thought. He sees the boy falling back towards the parking space that a car is zooming into; parking is a premium downtown and to find one on the main drag is a great find. The driver can’t see, anticipate the small body that will fall partly into the space. But Aramis sees and dives to slide his arms underneath that body.

It’s not until he’s lying on his back, the young boy cradled protectively to his chest that he begins to think about what he’s done.

“Oh, Mason, are you all right,” the woman asks. Aramis can feel her hands on him, wanting to move his arms to let go of the child. He can’t let go. The boy is alive and safe right here with him. “Thank you, sir. Thank you for saving him.” She’s in tears, voice frantic.

“’Mis, come on you need to let go,” Athos coaxes. “Loosen your grip. He’s safe and you’re safe. Take a breath and let him go.”

Aramis breathes in and out, once, twice. Mason doesn’t smell of desert but of some finely concocted cologne and that is enough to startle him back to reality. He releases his grip in the process and Mason scurries out from underneath him, running to cling to his mother’s leg. She quickly snatches him up in her grasp. 

“I apologize if he scared you,” Athos explains to the woman. “He’s a veteran and this incident brought out his PTSD some.” Aramis doesn’t see the woman’s expression, but he knows it’s not good when Athos continues. “He’s no danger, I assure you of that. He’s a Musketeer, in fact, and well-respected. He just was trying to make sure your son is safe.”

“Well, I thank him for his service, but if he’s got such terrible problems maybe he shouldn’t be outside, especially around children. Let’s go, Mason. We’ll go call dad and let him know what happened, then go to the toy store. You can pick out any toy you want.” As she’s leaving, he hears her talking with what sounds like the police on the phone.

“How much trouble am I in,” Aramis asks, finally opening his eyes to look up at Athos, who’s kneeling next to him. d’Artagnan is on the other side. 

“You’re fine. It’s that woman who has a problem,” d’Artagnan says.

“It’s fine, d’Artagnan. I’m used to it by now.” Aramis waves it off, seeing only then what his dive did to his bare arms, sleeves rolled up in the heat. He curses at the scratches that are mingled with dirt and gravel. 

“Is it just your arms,” Athos asks.

“It didn’t do my chest any good.”

“Bruises or broken?”

“Bruising, I think.” Aramis pushes himself into a sitting position with an audible wince. Athos slips an arm behind him to ease him up. 

“You need to get those cuts cleaned up.”

“I’ll run over to the gas station and get a first aid kit,” d’Artagnan says.

“That won’t be enough.”

“You can bring him in here.” They look back to see a young woman standing in the doorway of one of the stores a few yards away. “I have a first aid kit and a sink where he can get washed up.”

“You good with that,” Athos asks.

“Yeah.” Aramis nods and gets to his feet. d’Artagnan is quick to his feet and steadies Aramis as he stands, wincing slightly as the movement pulls at his ribs. The woman shows them back to the small bathroom. Aramis shrugs Athos and d’Artagnan off once there and starts in on cleaning up his arms. It’s not difficult to reach, but the scrapes are tender and some of the dirt doesn’t want to come out easily.

“Let me help,” d’Artagnan says. Aramis sighs, then turns himself over to the younger man’s ministrations. He tries to hold back the winces and hisses as d’Artagnan steadily cleans and bandages the scratches. Once the blood and dirt are gone, his arms don’t look too badly scratched, but bandaging will help to keep them clean. Unfortunately, it’s not just the cuts that hurt. Every movement sends jolts of pain through his abdomen. This is the last thing he needed this week. Though he’s slept through the night more nights than not for once in several weeks, it has done little for the exhaustion he feels in his bones and muscles. Perhaps, he thinks, he’s coming down with something. It wouldn’t be surprising given their extra work load as the police have spent the week dealing with July 4th celebrations and their aftermaths. Or maybe there is more still to the break up with Anne than he thinks. Four months later and it still hurts to think about her.

“I’ve let Treville know that we’ll be a little late this morning.” Athos appears at the doorway, in Aramis’ line of sight. “How’re you doing?”

“Fine,” he answers plainly. He examines his arms quickly once d’Artagnan finishes the bandaging and lets him go. “Thanks, d’Artagnan.”

“How’re your ribs,” Athos asks. He doesn’t try to catch Aramis’ gaze, giving the man the benefit of the doubt that he would be truthful.

“Sore, but I don’t think they’re badly injured. Probably just the lingering pain from falling.”

Athos nods. He believes that if the injury were truly serious that, one, they would know by now, but also that Aramis would give some indication. While he’s been depressed lately, he’s not suicidal. They’ve had moments of it getting serious, moments where Aramis called up Lemay, who is no longer practicing in town, but offered to talk with Aramis over the phone until he found a new psychiatrist. He’s been working hard to keep to a routine, but Athos knows that it’s not been easy, especially since he started as police liaison. 

“Let’s get going then. If we head out now, we’ll be just in time to catch the next train.”

“Thank you for the use of your bathroom and kit,” Aramis says to the woman, who’s been politely hovering at the front of the store, cleaning and organizing.

“For what you did out there you deserve some more kindness than that woman gave you. Shouldn’t matter who you are or what’s happened to you. You kept that kid safe at your own expense,” the woman says.

“This is hardly anything.” Aramis points at his arms while unrolling the sleeves of his shirt. They thank her again and head out to the train station.

As regular commuters, they don’t need to stop to purchase tickets, allowing them to run on the train just before the doors shut. The crowd at this time is different, with more tourists than commuters. It doesn’t phase them much as each is focused on something other than their fellow travelers. d’Artagnan and Athos each watch Aramis, Athos especially, knowing that the younger man is likely more injured that he is showing. As for Aramis, he is focused on not allowing any pain to show. He refuses to admit to himself that his abdomen pain is more than just lingering pain from his rough fall. 

“It’s about time,” Treville calls out when they finally arrive. Athos hadn’t told him much about their delay, but judging on their appearances, it has something to do with Aramis. The man is slightly pale, lagging behind a touch, and has bandages on his forearms that definitely weren’t there last night. He’s tried to hide them behind his shirt sleeves. It isn’t working. Not with the blood and bandages peeking out.

“Apologies for our delay,” Aramis says. “I had a slight mishap this morning just as we were heading out the door and it seemed better to take care of it there than wait.” Hiding his pain isn’t as easy as it had been on the train. They’d walked quickly to get here and the normal weaving around slow pedestrians had only aggravated his ribs. He is looking forward to sitting at his desk doing mindless research and paperwork until his afternoon meeting with the police.

“Well, you’re just in time actually. Officer Gelshwin called just a few minutes ago.”

“No,” Aramis sighs, holding back the wave of rising annoyance. “What does he want?”

“To move up your meeting. Apparently, some new important evidence has been received. Could solve a big case, he said. You’re to head over to the station and meet with him immediately.” 

Aramis holds back another sigh, which would’ve been louder and angry. Gelshwin has good intentions, but he tends to think anything new will lead to a big break. Instead, he nods and turns to leave. If he’s lucky, he can catch the next bus to the main station.

“What happened,” Treville asks once Aramis is out of earshot.

“He slid catching a kid who was falling into a parking spot where a car was coming in. His arms are the worst with some scratches,” Athos explains.

“Nothing serious then?” Treville knows his men well, especially Aramis. The younger man has a tendency to collect wounds as though they’re stamps. At thirty-two, he already has a medical file large enough to rival a veteran officer twice his age. And it’s not just physical wounds, he’s a fair collector of the invisible ones, too. 

“Just scrapes and probably an injury to his ribs,” Athos says. “I’ll keep an eye on him when he gets back.”

“He’s going to be at the station for a while from the sounds of it. Gelshwin had a lot to share with him.”

“He’ll be so thrilled.” Athos gives a wry smile.

“Yes, well in the meantime you and d’Artagnan can get some more work done on the Knotmire case. Richelieu will already be speaking in Louis’ ear, convincing him of our ineptitude after Tuesday’s fiasco. I want to see some real progress made by the end of the day.”

Athos nods. He and d’Artagnan spend the next several hours working. Occasionally, they confer on some detail they find, but much of the remainder of the morning is spent in silence. When they are ready to order lunch, Aramis is yet to return.

“Should we order him something for when he gets back,” d’Artagnan asks, He’s pulled up the app for their favorite deli and is beginning to place their order.

“It might be best, given that they won’t have fed him anything other than stale doughnuts and bland coffee over there and he’ll be rather grumpy when he returns.” Athos is quite familiar with the main station, having served as liaison more than a few times. After the last time, the police chief himself had called Treville and told him to send anyone but Athos for the next several quarters. Unfortunately for Treville, the news had done nothing but please Athos who hated working with the police as they were slow, many of them were rookies, and they never knew what they really needed to know. It left the taskforce with much of the groundwork to do.


	3. The First Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few quick notes. There's a single reference to past self-harm in here. There might be more later on but I don't remember. It's not enough yet that I'm going to add it as a tag, but I do want readers to be warned, just in case.
> 
> And second, thanks again to Issa for betaing this story. She's helped to work a lot of the problems with the first draft and make this a more plausible story.
> 
> Thanks to those who've been reading and giving kudos as well as commenting. We're just at the start of this long adventure and I can't wait to see how you all like how the story plays out.

About an hour after lunch, Aramis arrives back, looking worse than when he left. Some of it, no doubt, is from having spent hours trying to tease information out of the police for cases they are more than happy to hand over to the Musketeers and examine reports that they feel might pertain to an open investigation while an officer peers over your shoulder to make sure you don’t damage or take the report.

“How did it go,” Athos asks. 

Aramis sighs heavily, plopping down so harshly in his seat that he can’t hold back a wince as it jars his ribs.

“I am not looking forward to the rest of the three months. There was nothing useful in any of that evidence.”

“Yet, we might find something useful in these meetings,” Athos says.

“That is the theory.” Aramis stretches out in his chair, closing his eyes to relax before settling back into work. Moments later, he hears someone, mostly likely Athos, walk up next to him. He opens his eyes to see the man leaning against his desk, standing beside him.

“Athos,” Aramis asks, sitting up, poorly hiding a wince.

“How’re your ribs?”

“Fine,” he answers quickly.

Athos raises an eyebrow in doubt.

“A little sore, that’s it.” Aramis gives a light shoulder shrug.

“Take a deep breath, then,” Athos says gently. Aramis hesitates, but Athos waits him out, well aware of how to deal with the other man. Finally, Aramis gives in, taking a deep breath. He manages to breathe in but it gets stuck as he tries to breathe out and he bends over coughing, wrapping his arms around his abdomen. Athos squats down, putting a hand on Aramis’ back to comfort him. He waits until Aramis is done.

“A little sore?” Athos raises an eyebrow but Aramis doesn’t see because he’s still hunched over. “Lean back, ease up the pressure on your ribs.” Athos taps on Aramis’ chest to nudge him back. Aramis moves back slowly, leaning heavily against the chair back. Athos sees that he’s still breathing heavily, pain etching his face, but he does see Athos next to him. Athos tugs Aramis’s shirt up a bit and when he doesn’t object.

“Have you seen how badly you’re bruised,” Athos asks.

“Yes and I don’t think it’s that serious.” Aramis stretches and winces. He pushes the shirt back down. “It’ll get better.”

“There’s some serious bruising there and you couldn’t take a breath without coughing. It’s still hard for you now, isn’t it? You need to get it looked out. You’re going.”

“It’s not worth an ER trip,” Aramis counters.

“Urgent care, then at the least.” Athos knows how much Aramis hates to clog up the ER for minor injuries. And if it’s serious, then the ER is not far.

“Treville won’t be pleased. I’ve already missed half a day of work.”

“He’ll understand and you know it. I’ll go let him know then we’re heading down.”

“Go,” Treville says behind them. “Athos let me know what happened this morning. You can get some work in once you’ve gotten those ribs looked at.”

“I can take care of this tomorrow, Captain,” Aramis says.

“You can’t move much without pain, can you,” Treville points out. Aramis nods. “You can’t afford to leave it go unexamined for a day. You really should’ve gone earlier. But now I, your commanding officer, am telling you to go. Don’t argue anymore.”

Aramis wisely keeps his mouth shut and rises from the chair. On their way out, d’Artagnan hands Aramis a couple ice packs and his sandwich they ordered for lunch.

“We figured you’d miss lunch, so we ordered your favorite sandwich for you,” d’Artagnan says. “And this is for your ribs. You’re going to have a drive ahead of you getting to the clinic, but this should help some.”

Aramis takes the sandwich and ice packs. He’s glad they have a stack of them in the freezer. Injuries are common among the Musketeers and the ice packs were in high demand.

Athos chooses to drive rather than take the bus or train to their usual urgent care. It will take longer, but there would be less jostling, making the trip less painful for Aramis. The man is silent on the drive. He sits in the passenger seat, picking at his sandwich, holding the icepacks against his abdomen with one hand. By the time they arrive, he’s eating nearly half of the sandwich. 

The receptionist is familiar with them. They’ve been here often for treatment, both the urgent care and the ER. Still, being the early afternoon on a Friday in July, they have a bit of a wait ahead of them. Neither is in the mood for small talk, Athos because he never is and Aramis because he’s still in pain, so they wait in silence. Some thirty minutes later, a nurse calls them back. After a brief exam, the doctor sends Aramis for x-rays to rule out any breaks and within less than two hours of arriving, they are leaving with a diagnosis of bruised ribs and instructions to ice, take deep breathes, and rest. The doctor explains he is lucky not to have broken anything, sliding into the ground like he did. With a bruised ribs and desk duty for the next two weeks, Aramis isn’t feeling terribly lucky.

“Back again so soon,” a familiar voice calls out to them as they walk out the main doors of the clinic. Both look up, seeing a nurse walking up to them and meeting Aramis’ eyes. At their puzzled looks, she continues. “I treated you and your friend in the ER earlier this week. How’s he doing?”

“Fine. Tired of being stuck at home, but he’s doing good,” Aramis answers. He finally recognizes the nurse as Megan, who is relatively new, but a good nurse.

“That’s good to hear. And you?”

“Bruised my ribs this morning.” Aramis gives a weak smile. 

“That’s terrible. I hope it doesn’t put you out of work too long.” She glances at her watch. “I have to go. I’m filling in for a friend and it wouldn’t be good to be late. Try to stay safe. Wouldn’t want you to wind up back here again,” she says with a smile and walks past them to enter the building.

Athos gives Aramis a look before continuing to their car.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Aramis says, catching up with Athos.

“I wasn’t thinking anything.” Athos tries to keep a neutral expression.

“I know that look. She was friendly. She asked a question. Am I supposed to be rude?”

Athos doesn’t respond. Instead, he unlocks the car and gets in. Aramis follows suits but continues speaking.

“You know I said I was done for a long time after Anne. I was just being friendly.”

“Aramis, the more you defend yourself like this, the more it sounds like there is something.” Athos tries to hold back a smile. The truth is, he would be very happy if Aramis started showing some interest in women again. The past few months since his disastrous relationship with Anne, Aramis hasn’t even flirted unconsciously with a woman, flirting instead with depression. Athos is worried about him.

“I was just trying to be friendly.” Aramis pauses, speaking quietly when he begins again. “I’m still not ready to try again. Not after Anne.”

“I know, Aramis,” Athos says, matching Aramis’ quiet tone. Athos has had his own failed romance. His pain isn’t quite the same as Aramis’ but he’s been there for the younger man since the first emotional phone call down by the lake. The first days were the roughest and when Athos was truly the most concerned. They’d never seen Aramis so in love and in the devastation afterward, Athos feared Aramis would return to his old ways of self-harm or worse. So, he’d kept him close and, surprisingly, Aramis hadn’t fought.

Neither of them wants to speak more on this topic, so Athos drives them back in silence. There is still time left in the day to get some work done and with the deadline close on making progress in the Knotmire case, they need all of the time they can get. d’Artagnan is happy to see them back and pleased that the injury isn’t severe. Aramis stops by to update Treville on his injury. Expectantly, Aramis is given desk-duty. When he returns to his desk, he finds a fresh icepack and a bottle of ibuprofen, both likely courtesy of Athos.  
They work late into the evening. Between his ribs and overall exhaustion, Aramis is ready to stop well before they did, but he’ll never leave his brothers to work when he still could.

It is nearly midnight by the time they arrive home. Porthos is still up, with dinner warming in the oven for them. Although he’d been informed already of the injury, Porthos still questions Aramis over it and doesn’t let him sit down to eat until he can ask.

“It’s nothing serious, Porthos,” Aramis says, trying to pull away from the older man.

“Bad enough that you’re on desk-duty.”

“It’s standard when you bruise your ribs. It’ll heal. Now, please, let me go eat. I’m tired and hungry.”

Surprised that Aramis admitted to not feeling good, Porthos doesn’t keep Aramis anymore. Porthos sits with his brothers as they eat, occasionally sneaking bites of food from their plates. He’s only caught a few times, to his pleasure.

When dinner and the dishes are done, they go to the den, which has far more comfortable furniture than the living room. They each settle into their usual spots, idly watching the first TV show they could agree on. Athos notices soon after that Aramis is quickly fading and gets him to take more ibuprofen, then, with Porthos’ gently coaxing, gets him to lie down with his head on Porthos’ lap and an icepack on his ribs. He quickly falls asleep, the first deep, truly restful sleep in a while. He barely recalls when they wake him, shepherding him to his room little more than an hour later.


	4. A Second Visit and Some Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Her feedback has done much to improve this story from its first draft. Any remaining errors are my own.
> 
> I feel I should note that while there is a lot of h/c for Aramis right now, there is a purpose to it. It's not just because (I save that for months beginning with 'O'). We're still quite a ways from the first turning point and tensions have yet to really pick up.

The next couple weeks pass relatively quickly. Porthos returns to work, keeping Aramis company as the two are on desk duty until they’re cleared by their doctor. This effectively puts d’Artagnan and Athos on desk duty as well as it isn’t safe for a two-man team to go out on major assignments. They do go on investigative trips, working to build more evidence for the Knotmire case.

The feelings of being watched come and go for Aramis. It is often when he is walking back to the train alone, but also occasionally with the others, though he doesn’t bring it to their attention. His sleeping is erratic, spending more than a few nights of the last couple weeks awake, watching infomercials with Athos. He knows that exhaustion leads to paranoia. His work with the police has only added to his exhaustion from not sleeping. Typing up the extra reports, each slightly different, to Treville, Richelieu, and Louis, as well as the police chief means a lot of late nights and taking the train alone. As much as he’d love the others to stick around, it’s not fair to ask them. He hasn’t yet resorted to marking off the days on the calendar until he can pass this job off to someone else, but he’s close.

A week later, when he’s nearly at his wit’s end with everything and everyone, Athos kicks him out of the house for the morning. It is a nice beautiful Saturday morning. The temperature is nice and the humidity low, a welcome break from the soupy weather they’ve been having the last couple weeks. It is the perfect morning for a run, something he hasn’t been able to do for the last couple weeks with his ribs, not to mention the complete lack of energy thanks to his workload. Running also manages to calm him and he loves running in this neighborhood.

D’Artagnan decides to join him. The youngest of them by little more than a handful of years and closer to his teens than them, he is often full of energy. Aramis suspects that Athos has kicked the lad out as well. He’s been rather fidgety the last couple of days with the entire time effectively on desk duty and last night when they were trying to watch a film, he knew Athos had just about yelled at him to stop his fidgeting.

The neighborhood is quite busy. A number of young kids are out playing and dogs out being walked. There are a lot of obstacles to dodge, but Aramis figures it is good training for running down criminals, who never make the task easy.

They are on their way back when it happens. After a number of close calls, a skateboarder rolls into their path. The teenager on the skateboard falls off into the grass when the skateboard hits a rough patch. Aramis moves to help the kid and though d’Artagnan calls out to warn him, he finds his feet caught up in the skateboard. He comes down hard on his side against the concrete. Seconds later, when the pain hits, it is blinding and he knows exactly what he’s done. He hears the teenager give a quick apology before grabbing his skateboard and darting off. d’Artagnan is beside him and calls out after the kid but to no avail.

“Where are you hurt, Aramis,” he asks.

“Mostly bruises, I think. The worst is my ankle.” Aramis is still on his side, holding onto his injured ankle.

“How bad?”

Aramis mumbles something d’Artagnan doesn’t catch.

“You think you can walk home?”

They aren’t far. It’s just a few blocks, but with the injury, it may as have been miles. For Aramis, the thought of walking anywhere is enough to turn his stomach with the pain.

“I’ll take that as a no?”

Had he made a sound, Aramis wonders.

“Help me up,” Aramis says. “I might be able to make it with some help.”

“Are you sure? I can call Athos to come get us.”

“Let’s see how this goes. If I can’t make it, we’ll call him.”

d’Artagnan reluctantly agrees and carefully helps Aramis to his feet. It isn’t easy and they quickly discover that it’s more than just some bruises. His arm is scratched up some, though the bleeding isn’t heavy fortunately. Aramis hisses as d’Artagnan pulls his injured arm up so he can slip his own under and around to support him as they begin their trek back home.

The walk is slow and they make several stops to let Aramis rest. On a number of those stops, d’Artagnan is ready to call Athos, but Aramis always heads him off. It isn’t until they are nearly home when Porthos calls to find out where they are and then runs out to find them that Aramis seems to finally admit to needing more help. Resting against a tree, a block from home, d’Artagnan takes inventory of the man. He is sweating, breathing heavily, bleeding still, and refuses to even put his left foot, the injured one, on the ground.

“What happened,” Porthos asks. Athos is right behind him.

“He tripped over a skateboard. Other than the scrapes and bruises, he’s hurt his ankle,” d’Artagnan answers.

“How bad,” Athos asks.

“Can’t put any weight on it,” Aramis answers. He’s regained his breath some but is still obviously in pain.

“Urgent care or ER,” Porthos asks.

“Urgent care, of course. Now help me back home, please.”

Porthos and Athos give d’Artagnan a break, taking over helping Aramis to walk back. While they help him to the car, d’Artagnan runs inside to grab him a water bottle and Athos his keys and wallet. He stays behind as the other two take Aramis to the clinic.

Because it is early in the morning still and the weekend, the clinic is empty meaning they get in quickly. To Aramis’ grumbles, he is forced into a wheelchair as it is easier to move him around. Athos waits behind in the waiting room, knowing the exam rooms are small. While Porthos and Aramis wait for the doctor to come in, the nurse takes care of the scrapes on his arm. He is just finishing placing a band-aid over one of the nastier scrapes when the doctor comes in.

“Good morning, Mr. d’Herblay. I’m Dr. Gravic What’s the trouble today,” she asks, standing, clipboard in hand, in front of Aramis.

“I tripped over a skateboard this morning when I was out running and took a tumble to the ground,” Aramis says, readjusting a bit on the exam bed to get more comfortable. “I think I hurt my ankle. Can’t put any pressure on it without shooting pains.”

“You fell on your left side, I take it?”

“Yeah.”

Gravic looks at the number of scratches on his arm. She carefully tests the range of motion on his shoulder, as well as his wrist and elbow. Other than the scrapes and some bruising, she doesn’t find any hidden injuries. Aramis is glad for that. He hadn’t given much thought to anything beyond the readily visible. Instead, he’d just been glad he hadn’t caused any further injury to his bruised ribs, which are mostly healed, but still stiff and occasionally pain him when he tries to do too much. According to Frice, it’ll still be another week before they’re back to normal.

“Let’s take a look at your ankle then.” The swelling was obvious. Porthos had taken off the shoe during the car ride, being as careful as possible, though it hadn’t mattered much. Any movement of the ankle did and still does send waves of pain through the limb, blotting out any thoughts Aramis might’ve been having.

The doctor gently prods the injured ankle. Aramis fails miserably in holding back gasps and hisses during her examination. When she starts talking again, asking him questions about what hurts and the pain level, she has to repeat the first. Aramis is too caught up in the pain to hear at first.

“It seems most likely to be a sprain, but I’m going to send you for an x-ray to be sure,” Gravic says, jotting notes on her clipboard.

“Wonderful.” Aramis sighs. He understands the reasoning, but he wants to be back home instead of being here.

“It’s mostly a precaution. I’m nearly certain it’s just a sprain, but it’s best to be sure. I’ll get the order sent. There might be a short delay once you get down there as they wait to process it.”

“Thanks,” he mutters as the doctor leaves.

With the nurse’s help, Porthos gets Aramis back in the wheelchair and takes him down for the x-ray. Athos joins them on the trip down, Porthos filling him in on what the doctor said. By the time they are done, Aramis is tired and trying to keep from lashing out at his friends. The pain that shoots through his ankle isn’t their fault. Then, Porthos doesn’t turn the wheelchair enough when they are getting back in the exam room, catching his injured foot. Aramis cries out, bending over to grasp at the foot. He thinks that Athos, back out in the waiting room, has likely heard his cries of pain. He might have also yelled at Porthos as well. With the pain flaring, it is hard for him to know for certain what he’s doing.

When the pain is finally dwindling, he finds himself back on the exam table. Next to him, a firm hand on his back, was Porthos, silently supporting him as had become custom. Aramis looks up, seeing the worry and guilt in his eyes.

“Sorry,” they say at nearly the same time.

“I didn’t realize the edge was so close,” Porthos says after a pause.

“I know. I think I might have yelled at you. Sorry about that.”

“You did. I think the whole clinic heard. I heard Athos calling back to ask how you were. I’m sure it’s quite tender.”

“It is. Any pressure and it flares.”

They settle into an awkward silence.

“What else,” Porthos asks finally. He senses that there is more to Aramis’ outburst. The man is no stranger to pain and while sprains hurt, he knows that Aramis normally wouldn’t’ve lashed out like he had.

“I’m tired. This liaison thing is a waste of time. There’s so much work and we get nothing valuable out of it.” Aramis sighs heavily. “I wish I knew what Athos had done to get out of it.”

“I’m pretty sure whatever Athos did is something only Athos could get away with. You try it and I don’t think your years of friendship with Treville would keep him from putting you on grunt work for the rest of the year and maybe next.”

“True. I just don’t understand the value of this.”

“We’ve known from the start that it’s more to pacify Richelieu and to make the police feel like they’re actually contributing. You’re down three weeks at least.”

“It already feels like it’s been two months.”

Their conversation is interrupted by the Gravic’s return. She quickly puts up the x-ray, confirming no break. Soon, the ankle is wrapped and she is giving him the final orders.

“You’re going to need crutches. You need to keep weight off your ankle for the next couple weeks as it heals. I’ll have the nurse bring in a set of crutches before you leave.”

“We have crutches at home,” Porthos says. At her surprised look, he continues, “We’re no stranger to injuries. Our job is dangerous.”

“Then you know how to set them up as well and properly use them.”

Aramis nods.

“I think they might even be set for him still,” Porthos says.

“For the next several days, keep off your feet. Ibuprofen as needed to keep the swelling down as well as the pain. Make sure to keep it elevated and iced.”

“Sounds familiar. I had to do some of that for some bruised ribs.” Aramis absently holds his abdomen.

“Part of the job,” she asks.

“Some. Just a couple accidents. Nothing serious,” Aramis explains easily. He didn’t think it’d been that bad recently for her to fish for information. The injuries weren’t serious and had been spread out. They didn’t make much sense as he isn’t accident prone. But these recent accidents combined with the stress from work and his failed love life are doing a number on his body and mood. He wants nothing more than to get back home and rest on the couch for the rest of the day.

“How are your ribs feeling,” she asks.

“A bit sore, but nothing serious.”

“While you’re here, let me take a look. That fall might’ve been on the other side of your body, but you might’ve caught it on the way down. It’s best to make sure that nothing’s wrong.”

She waits until he slowly removes his arm from his abdomen. While he understands her reasoning, he isn’t thrilled with being examined. Her poking and prodding results in a few hisses from him.

“I can’t detect any signs of a new injury, but I do recommend being careful moving a bit this weekend. Keep up with the rehab regiment, though. Try to keep your walking around to a minimum, especially with the crutches and a still healing rib injury. After the weekend, when you’re back on your feet, you should still exercise some caution when moving around.”

“Okay. I hadn’t thought of that. Doesn’t sound like it’s going to be a fun time.” Aramis tries not to roll his eyes, especially not at her. None of this is her fault.

“You won’t be on your feet much this weekend, ‘Mis,” Porthos tells him.

“Athos will be thrilled.”

“Take care, Aramis. And try not to come back too soon,” the doctor says. Before she leaves, she helps Porthos to get Aramis back in the wheelchair.

Back home, d’Artagnan is there with crutches, having gotten a text from Porthos to pull them out of the garage. They all stick by as Aramis maneuvers himself up the front sidewalk, where there are fewer steps to tangle with. He’s unsteady at first but quickly gets his bearings. Inside, the den is set for him with a couple of his favorite books, the remotes for both the TV and PlayStation, his laptop, a drink, and a few snacks. The couch has a pillow from his bed on one end with the others on the other side, stacked, where they put his foot up, and cover him with his favorite blanket. Aramis really wants to get out his smelly clothes, but the thought of getting cleaned up is enough to exhaust him the rest of the way. As he settles down on the couch, he thinks that perhaps he’ll wait until he’s more rested before dealing with his dirty clothes.

“Do you need anything,” Athos asks. d’Artagnan has already brought him ibuprofen for the pain and swelling as well as ice packs for his ankle. Aramis shakes his head. It’s just him and Athos in here now and he has a feeling there’s a conversation coming.

“No, I think I’m just going to rest for a while.”

“You look rather tired.”

“It’s this string of injuries. Not to mention that liaison crap.”

“It doesn’t seem much like it’s been your month so far,” Athos says.

“No, it hasn’t been.”

Athos pauses for a moment. “How’re you doing with the breakup?”

“Fine,” Aramis says curtly.

“That’s good.” Athos doesn’t believe his friend but decides not to push it further. He needs rest more than to be worked up. “Just remember that I’m here if you want to talk.”

“Thanks. If you don’t mind, I’d like to try to catch up on some sleep since I can’t do much else.” He points to his injured foot.

“Good idea. Keep your phone nearby and let us know if you need anything. Don’t try to get up yourself.”

Aramis nods and settles down further on the couch to try to sleep. Athos repositions the pillows under his foot to help him get more comfortable. He then leaves Aramis to sleep and joins the others in the kitchen.

“How’s he doing,” Porthos asks.

“He’s sleeping or trying to.”

“You think something’s wrong,” d’Artagnan asks. They’re all aware of how Aramis’ illnesses have the potential to flare up and disrupt his daily life. In the months since the breakup, they’ve been watching closely for any signs.

“He told me today that he’s tired,” Porthos says.

“He said the same thing to me. He’s tired of the liaison thing,” Athos comments.

“It’s tiring with all of the extra work and meetings. But this is more than just the liaison work. It’s more aggravating than exhausting, anyway,” Porthos says. Other than d’Artagnan, who’d just recently graduated from cadet and would have to wait a bit longer for the pleasures of being police liaison, they’d each held the position a couple times.

“I asked how he was doing with the aftermath of the breakup, but he shut down.”

“I thought it would be better now that a few months have passed. He seemed to be past the worst of the depression, too,” Porthos says.

“Has he been sleeping,” d’Artagnan asks.

“Not very well. He’s up often when I can’t sleep,” Athos says. “Sometimes before I’m even up.”

“This weekend should be good for him then. Hopefully, he can get some good rest,” d’Artagnan says. The others agree with him.


	5. A Sighting, Perhaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis finally talks to someone about his potential stalker. Then, a sighting leads Aramis into distraction and trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Issa for beta reading and pointing out the plot holes. Any errors remaining are my own doing.

Aramis sleeps restlessly throughout the day. He wakes whenever the icepack is switched out for a cold one, but he doesn’t let them know. Sometime in the late afternoon, he gives up on sleeping. Whether it is the position he has to lay in to keep his foot elevated or something else, he can’t sleep. He is tired, but not enough to fall asleep. Instead, he lays there thinking but trying not to.

He is reaching for the TV remote, which had fallen to the floor at some point, and trying not to fall off the couch when Porthos comes in.

“Careful,” Porthos warns. “If you couldn’t reach it, you should’ve let us know.” He gently rights Aramis back on the couch and picks up the remote. Before handing the remote over, however, he asks how Aramis is doing.

“Fine,” Aramis answers. He tries to keep the frustration out of his voice, but at the change in Porthos’ posture, he knows he hasn’t succeeded.

“Talk to me, Aramis. There’s more than just this liaison thing that’s bugging you, isn’t there.” Porthos takes a seat on the edge of the couch, down near Aramis’ legs.

“It’s nothing.”

“It can’t be nothing. You’re not sleeping well and don’t think you’ve tricked any of us into thinking you slept more than thirty minutes at a time today. Is it because of Anne?” Porthos knows that Athos has unwittingly but not unwillingly taken point on the Anne issue, but he’s hoping that Aramis might open up more about it to him than he’s ready to with Athos.

Aramis is silent for a moment before speaking. “No… yes…. I don’t know.” He pauses again. “Sometimes, when I think about her, but other times no. I thought she was the one and then she wasn’t and there’s nothing I can do about that.” He can’t help the defeated tone. Anne meant as much to him as Isabel did and both turned out to be not who he thought.

“It’s easy to sound so nonchalant about her,” Porthos comments. “Doesn’t mean much to your heart in the end.” Love and romance are not unfamiliar to Porthos, but he’s spent the larger part of his adult life thinking more about his career than settling down to start a family. It’s not out of the cards, but he’s willing to wait until he’s ready.

“True,” Aramis says quietly. He fidgets, playing with the stray threads on his blanket.

“That’s not what’s wrong though, not entirely at least.” He’s known Aramis for five years now, through thick and thin. And that kind of friendship gives you the insights and instincts of a twenty-year relationship.

“No. Like I said, I think about her at times. I mean, how could I not. That was a year wasted. But then I’m so busy right now there’s little time to spend on idle thoughts.”

“So, what’s got you so caught up that you can’t settle? Why did Athos kick you out this morning? I know it’s not just the liaison thing. It’s annoying, but it hasn’t gotten you this worked up before.”

Aramis hesitates in speaking. “I… I can’t really explain it. I keep getting this sense that I’m being watched.”

“What do you mean? Just observing or something worse?” Porthos is instantly on alert but forces himself to stay calm. He doesn’t want to excite Aramis.

“It’s been nothing serious. Mostly just walking around the city, feeling like there’s someone watching everything I’m doing, following me. But when I try to get a look, there’s no one there.” Aramis shrugs his shoulders.

“Where? When?”

“Going to get lunch, catching the train late at night.”

“And you haven’t seen anyone?”

“No, but then I haven’t looked too closely. They’re not causing trouble now, so I don’t want to spook them into doing something. And, I’ve been tired and I know what lack of sleep does to the mind.” He doesn’t mention the lingering depression because he knows they know about it and frankly he’s tired of dealing with it, again.

“But still, we deal with some pretty nasty criminals. Any one of them might have reason to come after anyone of us,” Porthos says. He purposefully leaves out the one name the immediately comes to mind: Marsac. The man is still behind bars and, despite the threats to come after everyone Aramis loves, nothing has come about. At this point, Marsac, he thinks and hopes, has accepted his punishment and has decided to let Aramis live the life he deserves.

“I’d thought of that, but couldn’t think of who might have reason. I thought it might’ve been Marsac, but he’s still in jail. I checked and he’s had no visitors in the last year.”

“There might be someone we haven’t caught.” They do their best to have enough evidence to get everyone tied to the crime, leaving no loose ends to exact revenge or restart the criminal activity, but they aren’t perfect. Porthos knows they will eventually miss someone big.

“And it could just be my mind playing tricks on me,” Aramis says with a tired smile.

“Well, you won’t be going anywhere alone for a while with that new injury, so we’ll all keep a lookout, just in case. And in the meantime, you need to work on getting some better sleep.”

“Easier said than done, my friend,” Aramis says settling further into the couch.

“How about getting cleaned up, then a good dinner and a quiet night watching some movies. We’ll even let you pick them.”

“Has Athos agreed to that?” Aramis gives a slight smile. The four of them often don’t agree on what to watch and Athos, surprisingly, is the most vocal about it.

“No, but knowing you, you’ll pull the sympathy card for this sprained ankle and knowing him, he’ll give in because he’s really just a teddy bear.”

“Quite the prickly teddy bear sometimes.”

“Yes, well that’s just when you and d’Artagnan decide to act out to irritate him.”

“He’s just so much fun to rile up. The only one better is d’Artagnan.”

Porthos laughs, nodding in agreement.

“Let’s get you up, then. I’ve got the crutches here. If you’re careful, we might be able to manage a bath.”

Aramis stops in his movements to sit up and gives Porthos a slightly doubtful look.

“I think we could manage it and keep the bandage dry. She got it wrapped pretty good and I don’t want to think of one of us trying to get it re-wrapped so well. I’ll stick some plastic wrap around it, if you’d feel better. And think of how good you’ll feel after a good soak.”

“A wet towel might be easier.” It’s not that Aramis doesn’t appreciate Porthos’ efforts, but he’s not sure about getting down in the tub with just one foot.

“But you know you’ll feel better after a bath. You always rest better when you’ve gotten cleaned up good.”

It takes a little more convincing before Athos pokes his head in and tells Aramis to shut up and take a bath. Between Athos and Porthos, he makes his way up the stairs carefully and ready for a bath. Getting in isn’t easy, but they support him as he hobbles his way into the tub, onto the plastic stool that Athos pulls from the cupboard. It’s a slightly bigger than average tub basin and the stool is much easier to sit on compared to the tub floor, but still doesn’t make getting in easy on his nerves and getting back out won’t be any easier. Still, once in the warm water and with his foot elevated on the tub ledge and wrapped in plastic wrap, Aramis has to admit that this was the better option. It’s doing wonders for his stress.

Between the bath, Porthos’ dinner, and a movie night, Aramis falls asleep easily, head in Athos’ lap and foot elevated in d’Artagnan’s, well before the ending of the first film. The others do their best to remain quiet and keep up the film watching so he can sleep. By the time Monday arrives and he has to face getting into work on crutches, he is better rested and in a better frame of mind to take on the week.

Time passes quickly in intervals, then slowly. While Treville isn’t pleased by his new injury, there’s a part of him that is concerned. Aramis has had his share of injuries over the last several years, but they are normally spaced out. He worries that the injuries might be related to the return of his depression. Like the others, he’ll continue keeping a close eye on him.

By Monday, Porthos is nearly ready to be back on regular duty. He has some physical therapy for his shoulder but is soon back to his normal self. They arrange their schedule as best as they can to drive Aramis over to the police station for the liaison meeting. With the crutches, it’s easier on him than trying to jostle his way on the bus and safer than him attempting to drive. He tries the bus one day but when he is forced to stand after no one gives him a seat and he nearly falls, he gives up on being independent for a while. Predictably, it doesn’t make him a happy camper.

Occasionally, Porthos asks him about his feelings of being watched, but it doesn’t happen again. Aramis sinks back into a melancholy. He goes to work, works in his workshop, bakes, and helps around the house, but not with much energy. By mid-August, he is mostly recovered. His ribs are better and he’s ditched the crutches, opting for a brace to give his ankle a little extra support. He is often sore at night, especially after a long day of working, often on his feet, but his injuries are nearly fully recovered.

Predictably, it’s when things are going well that something happens to disrupt it.

He and d’Artagnan are returning from following up on some leads from his latest meeting with the police. They had agreed to pick up lunch on their way back. It is when they make the last turn to the restaurant that he realizes they were being followed. He’s had the feeling for the last couple blocks but confirming it was not an easy task.

“We’re being followed,” he says quietly to d’Artagnan.

“Are you sure?” d’Artagnan resists the urge to turn around.

“Positive.”

“What do you want to do?” It’s the most animated that d’Artagnan has seen Aramis in a few weeks. He’s not sure if that is good or not as it’s more agitation than anything else.

“Let’s stop just around the corner here and see what they do. We need to get Athos’ and Porthos’ orders anyway.”

Just around the corner is the restaurant, which makes it the perfect place to stop. While Aramis keeps watch, d’Artagnan calls Athos. As he listens to their orders, he does his best to keep watch. He watches Aramis tense before he reaches out a hand to push him back against the brick wall. He quickly ends the phone call to Athos’ confusion and looks to Aramis, who is busy watching the passing crowds.

“Did you find them?” d’Artagnan keeps his voice low.

“No, but I know they were there.”

“Did you catch a glimpse?”

“Some. It was a man. Never seen him before. He was wearing sunglasses and a black leather jacket. Quite odd for Chicago weather in the summer.”

“I don’t remember seeing anyone pass wearing a jacket.” With the typical August heat and humidity, most people passing them wore short sleeves or tank tops. There is the occasional man in a business suit or woman in long sleeves, but no one wearing a leather jacket.

“I know he was there. He was following us for a couple blocks, at least.”

“Maybe it just looked like that because we were going in the same direction. Then he turned off back there somewhere.”

“No, he had this look and he was not so subtly watching. He really was terrible.”

“Well, he’s not following us now. We’ll keep an eye out, but for now, let’s go get lunch,” d’Artagnan says. “If we’re not back soon, Porthos might starve. He was complaining loudly in the background of his hunger.”

Aramis smiles slightly and gives the passing crowd another look before nodding in agreement, trying to put the stalker to the back of his mind. d’Artagnan thinks he might have to pull Aramis away, but the man eventually turns to follow him.

Inside, while waiting for their order, d’Artagnan quietly observes Aramis. He’s recovered well from his injuries, though his mood is no better. The dark circles around his eyes, fortunately, are no worse, but he knows that Aramis is not getting any better rest. His meetings with the police have increased and lengthened since he took on the position. Summer is the worst time, he’s been told, for being liaison because crime always sees a dramatic uptick in the summer months.

Fortunately, their wait isn’t terribly long and they leave the restaurant each with a bag of food. The Musketeer headquarters is not more than a couple blocks away, making walking much more practical than any public transit. Aramis resumes his careful watch for their stalker. d’Artagnan faults this, in part, for Aramis not seeing the car until it is nearly too late. The man is normally highly observant, so not to see the car swerving towards him is unusual.


	6. The Good Samaritan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the car accident, Aramis and d'Artagnan are helped by a Good Samaritan but are they as altruistic as they seem? And, the boys start to express their opinions on the stalker matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading and catching those errant plot holes I forgot about. Any remaining errors are my own doing.
> 
> No cliffhanger this time. I couldn't pass up last week's. Thanks for the comments and kudos. I'm glad that people are enjoying this story. It's been fun for me to write and re-write.

He is well into the intersection when the blasting of the horn finally penetrates his senses. d’Artagnan is already rushing to grab him, when Aramis turns suddenly, trying to avoid the car rushing towards him. As the car passes, the side mirror catches him, spinning him back towards the sidewalk. Afterwards, there is no hope for him recovering his balance. His feet become caught up in each other and the bag of food drops from his hands. d’Artagnan tries to catch him, but he is too late, the man’s arm sliding just past his hands. Aramis falls hard against the road and sidewalk, his head catching painfully on the curb.

When it is done, Aramis is still and their fellow pedestrians shocked and staring at them. d’Artagnan pulls out his phone as he falls to his knees next to Aramis. Though he doesn’t dare move Aramis, he does a cursory exam, noting the most obvious injury is the head wound that is wetting his hair with blood and gently streaming down the side of his face. Before he has a chance, a man settles down on the opposite side and informs him that he’s already called 911.

“Thanks,” d’Artagnan says.

“No problem. That was a nasty hit your friend took.”

“Yeah,” d’Artagnan says absently. He is trying to get a better look at any injuries Aramis might have.

“It could’ve been worse. Other than the obvious concussion, he may have some broken ribs.” d’Artagnan watches as the man starts to gently prod Aramis’ abdomen. He looks up to get a glimpse of the man for the first time. As the man continues his prodding, head down, d’Artagnan sees a pair of sunglasses pushed up on his head, nearly lost in a mess of brown hair. He is firmly built much like Porthos and wears a long-sleeved black shirt, which seems odd in this heat but the man doesn’t appear uncomfortable.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” d’Artagnan pushes the man’s hands away from Aramis, moving to protect his unconscious friend.

“I’m checking his ribs.” The man looks up at d’Artagnan, concern and annoyance clear.

“I know that but stop touching him.”

“I’m a doctor.”

d’Artagnan nearly laughs, feeling a strange wave of Aramis’ humor run through him.

“Right and I’m Mickey Mouse.”

“I am but I don’t work in Chicago. I’m on vacation and I just saw a man nearly get run over by a car. I thought I’d be a decent human being and stop to help.” The man is trying to keep his temper in check and just barely succeeding.

“Okay. Okay.” d’Artagnan concedes seeing the earnestness in him and not believing, after all, that this man could be Aramis’ stalker. The man seems honest and so long as he doesn’t actually do anything to physically harm Aramis there isn’t anything wrong with him lending a hand.

“He’ll need x-rays to confirm, but I can feel a couple breaks.” He moves on to check Aramis’ limbs. “No other breaks, I think.”

He’s moved back to check the head wound when the ambulance arrives. When the paramedics try to push d’Artagnan out of the way, the young man refuses.

“I’m staying close by,” he says firmly. “When he wakes, he’s going to be disoriented and when he’s like that, he’s prone to flashbacks and panic attacks. But he knows me and I know what to do to stop him from having an attack.” d’Artagnan has had practice. He knows the speech to both alert and pacify paramedics, some who tend to jump the gun when it comes to mental illness.

“Alright, but stay out of our way. We’re just here to help your friend,” one of the paramedics says. They work to assess Aramis’ condition and get him secured on the gurney. On the one hand, Aramis’ lack of waking was a relief to d’Artagnan. He knows how to deal with Aramis during his flashbacks and panic attacks, but he knows that they’re hard on him. On the other hand, Aramis’ continued unconsciousness is worrying. Leaving their good Samaritan behind, d’Artagnan climbs into the back with Aramis without waiting for the paramedics to ask. He’s not going to risk Aramis waking with no one he knows around.

Aramis rouses some on the ambulance ride but he’s still mostly out of it. d’Artagnan watches anxiously as he rolls his head, eyes still closed, muttering familiar words. In the ER, he follows Aramis into the exam room. They’ve been taken to their usual hospital, so no one questions him. As the doctor starts his exam, Aramis becomes more alert.

“’Mis, I’m here. You’re safe. We’re at the ER.” It’s a mantra that they all use to comfort Aramis and d’Artagnan repeats it calmly to ease Aramis. It works until their phones begin buzzing incessantly and he realizes that Porthos and Athos are probably wondering why they’re not back yet. He waits until a familiar nurse arrives to take Aramis down for his x-ray and CT scan before stepping out to call Athos.

“Where the hell are you two,” Athos demands.

“At the ER. Aramis was hit by a car. He’s…”

“Hit by a car,” Athos interrupts. “How did that happen? You two were just going to check out a lead and pick up lunch.”

“I don’t know.” d’Artagnan knows how much Athos worries about Aramis’ mood and doesn’t want him to know that Aramis’ distraction over a stalker was the cause. “He hit his head and hurt his ribs. I don’t know how bad. The doctor might’ve said something but I was focused on keeping Aramis calm. He’s been conscious but not completely alert.”

“Is the doctor worried?”

“No. He doesn’t seem so. But he has sent Aramis off to x-rays and a CT scan.”

“That’s good.” Athos pauses. “We’ll be down there shortly. Where’re you two at?”

“Our usual ER.”

“Good. That’ll make it easier on Aramis. I’ll let Treville know and we’ll head down.”

“Sure. See you soon.” d’Artagnan ends the call, pausing for a moment to catch his breath. The last hour has been a whirlwind of activity and he can’t believe that they’d gone from walking and working to the ER in such a short time. He walks back to the exam room to wait for Aramis to be brought back. It’s a long wait and the others arrive before Aramis returns.

“He’s not back yet?” Porthos walks into the exam room, led back by a nurse.

“It’s Chicago, in the afternoon, during the summer. What do you expect,” d’Artagnan says.

“I know but it doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Porthos grumbles.

“Where did this happen,” Athos asks.

“Just a block from the station,” d’Artagnan says.

“And how did he happen to get hit by a car?”

“He… um… he was distracted.”

“Were you two plotting another crazy adventure of yours,” Porthos asks.

“No,” d’Artagnan says quickly. “He… he thought he saw someone.”

“A stalker?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“He told me about it a few weeks ago. I’ve been keeping an eye out but I haven’t seen anything and he hasn’t said anything about it since then.”

“Why didn’t you say something,” Athos asks.

“I was looking after it and, to be honest, I’m not sure that there really is someone,” Porthos says.

“This is Aramis we’re talking about. He’s very accurate about this sort of things.”

“I know, but he’s tired and depressed. And I’ve been looking out, but haven’t seen anything. Even he thought he might be imagining it.”

“We should keep a look out. Did you see anything, d’Artagnan?” Athos looks at him.

“No, but he was sure he did. He was looking for the stalker and missed the car coming when he stepped out into the intersection.” d’Artagnan runs a hand through his hair.

“How bad?”

“Like I said on the phone, I don’t know for sure. I was too busy trying to keep him calm.”

“That’s okay, d’Artagnan.” Porthos puts a comforting hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “You did good. Keeping him calm is always important and if the doctor was really concerned, they would’ve said something.”

d’Artagnan nods his head. “I think the side mirror hit him, spun him off balance. Before I could get to him, he’d fallen and cracked his head against the sidewalk. He started coming around during the ambulance ride, though.”

“That’s something at least.”

“It’s just so bizarre. One minute we’re bringing lunch back then it’s an ambulance ride and waiting for x-rays.”

“He’ll be fine, d’Artagnan,” Athos says.

It’s then that the curtain is pulled away and a nurse pulls the gurney with Aramis into the exam room. As she settles him into the space, checking his vitals again, the others move to the empty side.

“’Mis, how’re you feeling,” Porthos asks.

Aramis’ head lolls over to look at them. d’Artagnan can see that he’s more alert than before, but there’s still a haze of confusion in his eyes. “Athos, Porthos what’re you doing here?”

“Do you remember what happened,” Athos asks.

Aramis pauses, thinking, then shakes his head, wincing when the movement causes pain to shoot through his head.

“Just relax, ‘Mis,” Athos says, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder to calm him. “Any word on the tests?” Athos looks up at the nurse, who’s just finished with noting the vitals.

“The doctor is still looking at them, but he should be back shortly. Let us know if you need anything.” She pulls the curtain back as she leaves, giving them privacy.

“What happened?” Aramis looks at his brothers, confusion and pain in his eyes.

“You were hit by a car. Do you remember,” d’Artagnan asks.

“It was that man’s fault,” Aramis drawls.

The others look at each other.

“We’ll talk about this more later,” Athos says.

“Yeah, now’s not the time to talk about it,” Porthos says. “We will look into it later though.”

“Of course.” Athos nods. “How are you feeling?” Athos turns to Aramis.

“Everything hurts.” Aramis winces.

“Can you be a little more specific?”

“Um… Head, stomach, shoulder, back.”

“That sounds like everything almost.” Porthos chuckles. “Have they given you anything yet?”

“Something small, I think. I can’t remember.”

“They gave him a small dose of morphine once they were sure there wasn’t a serious injury that might interfere,” d’Artagnan explains. “They were waiting for anything more until the tests.”

The curtain opens again when the doctor comes in. It’s someone that Athos doesn’t recognize, but that’s not unexpected. There are new faces on a regular basis thanks to this being a teaching hospital.

“Good news, Mr. d’Herblay. The CT scan showed no bleeding or breaks from your head wound. So, other than the concussion and cut, your head is fine. X-rays did show a few broken ribs on your left side. The good bit is that they didn’t hit any organs. If you’re careful, they should heal without a problem. The rest is minor scrapes and bruises. All in all, you got off quite lucky considering you were hit by a car.”

“Yes, quite,” Athos comments. “Is he being admitted?”

“For the concussion? We’ll keep him here for a few hours, make sure that everything is fine and then he should be good to go. He’ll need to have someone with him for a while though. Moving with those ribs isn’t going to be pleasant and needs to be monitored for at least a day with the concussion.”

“That’s no problem,” Porthos says. “We live together. We’ll be able to keep an eye on him.”

“It’ll mostly be during the first week when it’s going to be painful for him to move and he’ll need to remember how to get around without hurting himself.”

When the doctor finishes checking on Aramis, he leaves them, pulling the curtain to give them privacy.

“Athos,” d’Artagnan begins, “can I talk with you outside.” He avoids looking at Aramis, not wanting to see the puzzled look on his face at him requesting to speak privately with Athos. This isn’t something he wants to talk about in front of the man, though. He has enough on his mind, there’s little sense in making him worry about something more.

Athos raises an eyebrow but follows d’Artagnan out of the cubicle and down the hallway so they can speak without being overheard.

“What’s on your mind?” Athos sees the hesitation and worry on d’Artagnan’s face.

“It’s about the accident and his stalker. Or potential stalker.”

“Oh?”

“There was a man who helped us. He was dressed in black, wore sunglasses on his head.”

“And?”

“And he looked just like the man Aramis said was stalking him,” d’Artagnan says in a rush.

“Do you believe that this man was the stalker? If Aramis does indeed have a stalker.”

“It wouldn’t make sense.”

“We don’t know their motivations. If Aramis does have a stalker, it could be that they simply want to string him along until the right moment. The accident could’ve been just that, an accident.”

“Do you think it was?”

Athos sighs. Without the driver of the car and witness reports, it really couldn’t be determined if it was an accident. “We need more information. Obviously, we can’t investigate it, but the police will and Treville will stay on top of them until this gets sorted.”

“And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime, we look after Aramis. We keep a close eye on him and make sure nothing else happens. He can’t afford another injury, not this close together.”

“Right.” d’Artagnan nods.

“And you should give your report about the accident as well as talk to the sketch artist. Have her draw up the man you saw. It’ll help the investigation.”

“Of course. I’ll do that when I get back so it’s still fresh.”

As they wait for Aramis to be released, Porthos and d’Artagnan return to the station both to update Treville and get some work done before they leave for the day. Treville works with the police to file the hit-and-run report. d’Artagnan files his report and sits with the sketch artist. Athos sits with Aramis, keeping him calm as the nurse cleans up the scrapes and head wound. Aramis also was finally given a stronger dose of painkillers.

Once Aramis dozes off thanks to the painkillers, Athos sits back to send a quick text to Treville, Porthos, and d’Artagnan. He doesn’t say anything in the text to Treville about the stalker Aramis thinks he has. It is possible that Aramis is being followed. He has at least one big enemy in Marsac, but Marsac is in jail and appeared to be abandoned by his family for his actions. They’ve dealt with a number of dangerous criminals and none of them were thrilled with being caught. Anyone of them could have put a hit out on him but they are careful for this exact reason. Loose ends only caused more trouble. It is why, though, they solved few cases in any given quarter, they are airtight cases.

Then there is the other option. Aramis is seeing things. He’s had a rough year so far with his break up with Anne after discovering that she was already married and the liaison job isn’t making it any easier. He’d hoped that Aramis would find a rhythm with the position like he had in the past but it wasn’t happening. Instead, it is throwing him off, as bad as he’d seen him in a few years. Perhaps, he should speak with Aramis about finding a psychiatrist. He’s been reluctant since Lemay moved, knowing what difficulty he had in finding a good psychiatrist to begin with and he’s been relatively stable for the past couple years. Lately, though, more nights than he can count he’s had silent company in watching infomercials until the sun nearly comes up. Aramis hasn’t talked much beyond the first week of the breakup unless he’s heavily prodded.

This will certainly set Aramis back for a while. He’ll be on bed rest for a while then desk duty until he is fully healed. Maybe the long time off will help. For now, Athos decides, they will watch him more closely than before and try to get him to talk. They’d also need to make sure to keep an eye out for danger and do whatever is needed to ensure that he gets proper sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you haven't read the collection of short stories that expand on this AU, Anne and Marsac don't have quite the same roles in this AU. Anne was a love interest of Aramis' but she never told him that she was married. He was set to propose when her husband walked in and she shoved Aramis out of sight. This takes place a few months prior to the start of the story (March 2017). 
> 
> Marsac was Aramis' friend but more importantly he was also his commander in the Navy SEALs and shirked his duty when they were tasked with rescuing school children from hostages. Aramis led the mission instead even though he was unqualified and lacking all the information. This is the Savoy massacre. Marsac pinned the blame on Aramis leading to Aramis' other than honorable discharge from the Navy. Treville pulled a lot of strings to clear Aramis of the charge and show that it was Marsac who was to blame. (There's a lot more to the story than this but it's the basics.)


	7. A New Normal?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis gets to go home but then comes a late-night conversation with Athos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing. Also, thanks for the comments and kudos as well as for reading. We're about half-way to the first of the turning points when things start to get tense and trust becomes an issue.

A few hours later when Aramis has shown no signs of worsening, he is discharged much to his relief. Porthos and d’Artagnan arrive in time to help Athos get Aramis ready to leave. They also bring his spare set of clothes from the office. While Athos and Porthos work to get Aramis dressed carefully, d’Artagnan goes to fill the prescription for a stronger painkiller that will help Aramis through the first week of recovery.

Although he winces and curses, Aramis doesn’t resist their help in getting dressed. That is somewhat disconcerting for them but at the moment it’s a relief because they need to get him dressed and ready to be picked up by Constance, who’s just come back from her summer training classes. She was at home when Athos called to ask the favor, unpacking and showering after spending days in less than ideal conditions but was happy to drive in to help them. Otherwise, they’d have to get an Uber ride or take the train, neither of which would be easy on Aramis’ aches and pains. If they hurry, also, they can miss the worst of the rush hour traffic.

The drive is smooth thanks to Constance’s driving, which Aramis appreciates. He is also happy to have the front passenger seat because they’ve reclined it a touch to ease the pressure on his ribs. He dozes on the ride home thanks to his head wound and the painkillers and his half alert as they gently manhandle him into the house.

The last few steps into the house, though, do him in.

“That’s… it,” he says between gasps at the pain. “No more.”

“Thought you’d want to go up to your bed,” Porthos asks.

Aramis shakes his head lightly, mindful of his growing headache. “Later…. Hurt.”

“Painkillers wore off?”

Aramis nods lightly, relaxing into the wall they’ve stopped in front of. He doesn’t care that they reinforce their grips to keep him upright. He needs to get the pressure off of his ribs and rest his aching head. He might not’ve had a severe concussion, but the dizziness and pain are throwing him off. He tries to keep his breathing even, working to breathe deeply as the doctor instructed but each attempt brings a sharp pain that makes his breathing hitch and ribs ache.

“Den it is then,” Porthos says easily. “d’Artagnan do you mind going to get his pillow and blankets.”

“And Fidget,” Athos adds quietly. d’Artagnan nods and goes up to get the things from Aramis’ room.

“Let’s get you into the den before you stiffen up too much,” Porthos says, stepping close to Aramis again to keep him upright as they made the final steps.

Aramis sighs but nods his understanding. He tries to take the first step, pushing off from the wall on his own but is left gasping for breath when a bolt of pain radiates from his abdomen out.

“Just let us do the work, ‘Mis,” Athos says quietly. He slips a hand behind Aramis’ back, under his shoulder.

Aramis nods his head again, biting his lips against the pain. He keeps his eyes closed and head bowed as he tries to regain some semblance of control.

“You ready?” Porthos’ voice is low, the deepness a comfort to him.

“Yeah.” Aramis tries to help, to shuffle his feet along as they support him from both sides. They are careful and slow but it hurts still. He holds back the harshest of the winces at first until he can’t and then it’s a muttering of apologies from them until he tries to collapse on the couch. Steady hands stop him but it’s still a relief on his aching ribs, his pounding head to lay down.

They lift his head up, sliding a familiar pillow underneath. d’Artagnan must be back. There’s the blanket that he likes and Fidget. He’s been sleeping with Fidget a lot more lately and as much as he won’t tell the others, he’s glad he has him now. He pulls the bear under the blanket to keep close to his chest.

“I also brought some clothes, a shirt and a pair of sweats.” d’Artagnan holds out the items. The sight of them makes Aramis’ chest hurt more.

“We’ll worry about them later,” Athos says, seeing the look of dread on Aramis’ face. “Let’s get one of your painkillers in you first and let it take effect before we even consider it.”

Aramis nods.

“You’re going to need to eat something or that pill’s going to chew up your stomach,” Porthos says. “Yoghurt or toast?”

“Yoghurt,” Aramis says without hesitation. Toast seems like too much work. When Porthos goes go get yoghurt and a pill, Athos and d’Artagnan work on getting Aramis into a slightly more upright position, which he appreciates because the alternative is being spoon fed and he has too much pride right now to even admit to wanting the help. He’s at a 45-degree angle when he tells them to stop. He’s raised up enough that he can eat on his own, albeit carefully. It hurts his head and chest but he doesn’t have to put up with it for long so he forces himself to endure.

He tries to down the yoghurt quickly, but his own ribs prevent that, leaving him to take slow, small spoonfuls, resting some between each. When he’s done, they give him the painkiller and help him lie back down to rest. Before he drops off into a sleep, they help him to change out of the pants into sweatpants, leaving the shirt for another time.

Except for being woken to eat and take more painkillers, as well as to check his concussion, Aramis sleeps on the couch through the evening, the combined effects of the pain from the accident and the painkiller giving him his first restful sleep in weeks. Athos stays downstairs with him, wanting to be close if the day’s events send him into a flashback. He’d already let Treville know that he was taking tomorrow as a personal day to help Aramis and catch up on any sleep he knows he’ll miss tonight.

For the first half of the night, Aramis sleeps soundly. Sometime around two in the morning, towards the end of a round of pain medication, he starts muttering, head lolling back and forth lightly. Athos watches, waiting to see if Aramis can ride it out and get a little more sleep but when he continues to grow agitated, Athos steps in to wake him.

“Wake up, ‘Mis,” Athos says firmly but quietly. He doesn’t want to startle Aramis awake. “Come on, you need to wake up, Aramis.” It takes a little more prodding until Aramis’ eyes slit open. Athos can see that he’s still not alert, not really seeing Athos.

“Hey, ‘Mis. You’re home, on the couch in the den. Do you remember? You’re safe, ‘Mis.” Athos keeps up the steady stream of comforting words, gently rubbing Aramis’ shoulder.

“’thos?” Aramis stills, turning his head to look at Athos.

“Yeah. You back with me?”

“Den? Accident? AH,” he cries out when he shifts. “Ribs.”

“Sounds right. How is the pain?”

“Hurts.”

“Number?”

“Six, eight if I move.”

“Then don’t move.” Athos knows that Aramis has told him the truth about the pain. It’s a rule in the house. It took time at first to get Aramis comfortable with admitting to the real pain, but it’s gone a long way in building up and maintaining their trust.

Aramis chuckles at Athos’ light command. Then winces.

“Be careful. You still have a half hour till your next dose.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Try to get some more sleep.”

“Can’t. Hurts.”

“I’ll grab an ice pack. That might help some.”

Aramis works on steadying his breathing until Athos returns. He doesn’t look forward to waiting out thirty minutes until he has more pain relief. And he’ll have to eat first, which means keeping the pain at bay so it doesn’t make him queasy.

“Here.” Athos hands him an ice pack. There’s another in his hand. “This one is for your head. That one is for your ribs.”

“Thanks.” Aramis slips the ice pack under the blankets, placing it over top his shirt where the pain is the greatest. It momentarily increases the pain but does start to slowly ease it. Athos takes the other ice pack and wraps it in a dish towel to set on Aramis’ forehead. He holds it there to make sure it doesn’t slip.

“How’s the pain now,” Athos asks after a few minutes.

“Better. Thanks.” Aramis gives him a slight smile.

Athos nods and waits longer before asking about the accident. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Aramis sighs. “I thought I saw someone following us but…”

“What?”

“I couldn’t see anyone there. And then there was the car. I couldn’t get away in time.”

“Do you think that someone is following you?” Athos knows that Aramis is an expert spotter. It was one of his special skills in the Navy, one he honed into being a deadly sniper.

“To be honest, I don’t know. I thought I did. But I don’t know.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you doubting yourself? You know your track record, your skills.”

Aramis sighs, breath hitching at the lingering pain in his ribs. “I know it’s no secret that I can’t sleep. That I’m hovering on the borders of depression. Exhaustion can do things to the mind.”

“Yes, it can. Do you think you’re slipping down too far?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You would tell me if you were?”

“You keep a watch, don’t you?”

“I look after you because I know myself that sometimes it comes upon us with little warning but I trust you to know your own limits.”

“I do, I think.”

“Do you want to find a psychiatrist? Or perhaps call Lemay? He did leave you his number.”

Aramis pauses, thinking. “I want to try to work through it on my own. I’ve done it before.”

“Yes, you have but this has gone on for months, Aramis.”

“I know, but it’s not serious. I haven’t had any major attacks since then. I think I can manage it.”

“And are you?”

“I’m trying. It’s just been hard with everything that’s going on.”

“It has been a hard month, but the good news is that you’ll have some time off, thanks to this. So, that should give you the chance.”

“Yeah.” Aramis sighs and gasps. “Is the half hour up?”

“If not, you can eat something and then it should be. What do you feel like?”

“Yoghurt.”

“Other than that. You’ve had yoghurt the last couple times. You need something more.”

“And you can’t cook.”

“Porthos made up a couple sandwiches with the leftover turkey from dinner. I’ll go get you one of those.”

Aramis doesn’t feel like eating a sandwich but he knows he needs something more. So he nods his head and sighs. Athos comes back a minute later with the sandwiches, pills, and a glass of water. He helps Aramis to sit up, propping him up with some pillows. Aramis tries not to gasp at the pain from the movement. He knows that Athos is being careful but his broken ribs burn from the strain of moving and his head aches. Athos waits until he sees the pain in Aramis’ face ease and the color return some to his face before handing him the plate.

“At least eat half of it,” Athos says, cutting off the comment he knows was coming from Aramis. Aramis sighs and nods, picking up a half of the sandwich. The first couple bites are easy. He is hungry but once the initial hunger is sated, the rest of the sandwich half is a struggle. Still, he eats it because he knows he has to and that will satisfy Athos. The last bite goes down with a big effort and he nearly shoves the plate with the other half into Athos’ hands. After taking his painkiller, Athos helps him to lie back down. He puts the plate in the fridge for later and brings back fresh ice packs.

Once he sees that Aramis has settled, not quite sleeping but definitely resting, Athos returns to his seat. He half-watches infomercials on a low volume, keeping his full attention on Aramis as his breathing evens out to sleep.


	8. A Watermelon Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis gets to go back to work but there are restrictions and then the kitchen happens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.
> 
> Just as a bit of warning, this chapter does get a bit bloody. And there's a cliffhanger

The next couple weeks are difficult for Aramis. His headache is slow to go, but even slower is the pain from his ribs. His brothers keep a close eye on him, reminding him to take deep breathes to keep his lungs clear. He knows that he needs to but for the first week any breathing unless it is shallow, hurts. By the second week, he has the pain under somewhat better control, though he still resorts to ibuprofen and ice packs regularly.

Before he’s allowed back at work, Treville has him see Frice to make sure he’s healing okay and to check on limitations. That he’s on desk duty is a given, but they don’t know how long he can work and if there are any special precautions he should take.

Sarah takes him to his appointment. He’s been spending his days at Treville’s house, which has been nice. It’s quiet there with the kids in school and the dogs sleeping. Sarah is busy with coursework for her masters in social work. Now that the kids are all in school, she decided to go back to school to become a social worker. Her experience with Aramis led her to want to work with veterans.

Currently, she’s sitting in the waiting room as he sits through Frice carefully prodding his ribs and trying not to wince too much. The one plus is that he’s laying down, which relieves the pressure and pain off his ribs.

“Well, it looks like you’re on track for healing. Nothing’s out of place. Your lungs sound good. How’s the pain,” Frice asks.

“It’s there but I’m getting used to it,” Aramis says, relieved to have the exam done but he doesn’t move to sit up. Laying down is so much more comfortable.

“If it’s bad, you need to take something for it. Don’t try to ride it out. While you’re going to hurt, it’s more important that you can get a good breath and that you want to. If you’re not working to clear your lungs, you’re more likely to get sick and then those broken ribs will feel much worse.”

“I know. I’ve been taking ibuprofen and icing the ribs regularly. The others wouldn’t let me get away without it.”

“They care about you.” Frice jots a few notes down before speaking again. “How’s everything else?”

“What do you mean?” He moves his hands under his head to prop himself up a bit.

“Other than the new notes in your records about the accidents, it’s clear that you’re tired, lethargic. You’re not your usual talkative self.”

“I hurt. Talking makes my ribs hurt.”

“I’ve seen you with broken ribs before and Athos and Treville had to threaten to duct tape your mouth before you’d shut up. And even then it lasted for a few minutes before you started up again. What’s going on?”

Aramis sighs. “It’s been a rough few months and work hasn’t been any easier.”

“The breakup with Anne?” Frice remembers dealing with Aramis and his worried friends in the aftermath of that break-up. He found out snippets of details as he worked to get Aramis through a terrible chest cold he got after spending hours in the cold rain.

Aramis nods. “I’ve been trying to keep going but I can’t say that it’s been easy.”

“Have you found a psychiatrist you like?”

“Haven’t really had time to look. Between these injuries and work, there hasn’t been much in the way of free time for a bit.” Not to mention he dreads finding a new one, considering how long it took to find Lemay.

“I recommend making an effort to find someone, especially if this keeps up. There’s no sense in keeping on going like this. I’m sure you don’t want to get too deep into depression and wind up where you were.”

“I’ll work on it. Am I okay to go back to work?” Aramis is eager to change the subject.

Frice chuckles, knowing what Aramis is doing. “Yes, but you need to be careful. It’s desk duty until those ribs heal and your first week is half-days only. I’ll see you again after that to evaluate how you’re doing and we’ll consider going to full-days.”

“Okay.”

“If you’re hurting too much, then stop working and go home. If I find out that you’ve worked yourself so much that you’re in pain, you’ll be off work until the ribs heal. Broken ribs aren’t a joke.”

“I know. I’ll be careful.” The strict tone Frice takes with him is a bit surprising but considering his track record, he thinks he shouldn’t really be surprised. But he is determined to follow Frice’s orders this time and, perhaps, that will help him to get out of this depression before it gets too deep.

So, it is with orders to be careful that Aramis returns to work the following week. Though Treville is happy to have him back to work, he’s also cautious and not just because of the healing injuries. He’s concerned about the potential stalker. When Athos returned to work, he explained the situation to Treville. Although he trusts Athos, Porthos, and d’Artagnan to look into it thoroughly, he too takes a look. So far, he’s found nothing. The police found the driver of the car, who admitted to texting while driving and was being charged accordingly. Combined with the witness reports, the car incident looked more like a true accident than intentional. The man d’Artagnan described hadn’t been found, but there also isn’t any concrete proof that this man had posed a danger to them. Unfortunately, that means that the other theory that’s being tossed around is starting to look more likely. Though he doesn’t like that Aramis is so tired and verging towards deep depression again that he might be imagining things, he wouldn’t be surprised if it is the case. He knows the kind of year Aramis has had so far and he’s surprised that he’s kept things together so well.

Aramis is careful during his first week back. He works half-days, going home around lunch. He’s made it through the week without trouble and he thinks that Frice will let him return to full-days when the week is out but it doesn’t happen. Instead, he’s given another week. If he could take a step back outside of the haze of anger and irritation, he would see that it’s from a position of concern that Frice continues the restrictions. Combined with the difficulties in breathing that broken ribs bring on, his earlier sleep troubles are back, leaving him tired and irritable. By the time Friday comes, he’s feeling worse than before both in terms of pain and energy. The others notice what he doesn’t tell them and keep a careful watch over him. He can’t afford another accident right now.

The waiting game is up the following Sunday afternoon in early September. They are stuck inside due to a storm and the freezer is in desperate need of more frozen meals to keep d’Artagnan and Athos fed as well as their kitchen intact. So, the four, after a leisurely morning, started prepping and cooking meals. Athos and d’Artagnan, both terrible in the kitchen but with strangely good knife skills, are set to the task of cutting anything Porthos needs. Aramis has set himself to the task of making their weekly dessert and bread.

Aramis, honestly, is rather glad to have a quiet day in. After another night of choppy sleep, exhaustion has sapped any energy he might have had. He’s still irritated by his appointment with Frice and the others’ easy acceptance of the restriction. Even more, it hasn’t ended his liaison duties, so what little time he has at work, it seems, he spends at the police station. Feeling more weighed down by the week and its outcomes, he would like nothing more than to lay on the couch in the den for at least the rest of the day, perhaps longer. He doesn’t because he knows his brothers are worried and he doesn’t want to give them a reason to find validation in Frice’s orders.

There have been no more sightings and, though, he’s had fleeting moments of seeing something out of the corner of his eye, it turns out to be nothing more than that. He tells the others because he trusts them and wants to do what he can to show that he’s being responsible. Ultimately, he thinks, he just has to make it to the end of the month, then he will gladly hand off the title of liaison to some other unfortunate soul.  

With the dough resting for the sweet bread he is making, a chocolate and walnut bread he discovered d’Artagnan enjoyed, he starts helping Athos and d’Artagnan work on cutting the mound of fruit they have before them. He picks a watermelon to start with, settling it on the cutting board until it stays put.

He never could recall how it happened. One second he is trying to shift his knife out of the thick skin of the watermelon, one hand just above the knife as he tries to steady the watermelon and the next, he feels his hand slip, the knife shifts startling quick in the watermelon, and the cutting board is speckled with blood and the knife still stuck in the watermelon, falls to the ground, the watermelon smashing at his feet. Athos reacts first, jumping up from his seat at the other side of the island. With a few long strides, he is beside Aramis to press a towel against the wounds. The other two turn to see what’s happened and immediately cross the kitchen to help. Aramis leans against the counter as his body begins to react, weakness hitting first.

“Breathe, Aramis,” Athos says calmly. Has he been holding his breath? He lets out a ragged breath and then the pain hits. He looks down at the towel, seeing it as if it’s not his own hand underneath. The towel is soaked with blood. His blood, he absently thinks. Faintly, he hears the others talking. His vision is narrowing, greying out. They look and sound yards away, not the inches he knows they are.

When Athos changes the towel for a dry one, he catches a glimpse of his hand and the blood flowing freely. His knees buckle. d’Artagnan catches him as he sinks to the ground.

“Stay with us, Aramis.” The younger man’s voice comes through warbled and takes a minute to process. He looks at them, seeing them watching him, each busy with a different task. Athos is still holding pressure on his hand. Porthos is on the phone. Aramis can’t hear what he is saying but he looks worried, on the verge of frantic. d’Artagnan is to his side, holding him carefully, mindful of the broken ribs that don’t feel so painful right now.

“Need to sit,” he hears himself mutter. If they hear it, he isn’t sure. He doesn’t care. If he didn’t sit soon, he is going to pass out. When he makes to sit, Athos and d’Artagnan turn frantic, concerned. d’Artagnan keeps him from collapsing.

“Okay, Aramis. You can sit, but wait a second for me to get a new towel.” That has to be Athos. He is in charge of the towels. So, he waits because he really is trying to cooperate. They all look so concerned. Porthos tosses Athos a new towel, a bigger, thicker one and he wraps it around Aramis’ hand. Then they sit down. D’Artagnan to his side still and Athos slightly in front, holding his arm up while keeping the towel on it.

The pain is there, always has been but nearly passing out distracted him. Even sitting, his vision is little better and his head feels heavier than it should. He closes his eyes and leans his head against the cupboard.

“Stay awake, Aramis.” Athos this time. He nods and mutters what he hopes is a yes but it all feels the same.

Minutes, maybe. Seconds, perhaps, later there is a different voice near him. A couple, if he hears right.

“Mr. d’Herblay, can you open your eyes,” one of the new voices asks. He tries and manages to crack them open a fraction. Paramedics have arrived. A skinny young man is kneeling by his side. Is it that bad?

The man is talking again, but he can’t understand him. When Aramis doesn’t respond, Athos takes over. He phases in and out during their conversation, feeling them touch him, catching snatches of words, nothing coherent. When he feels them pick him up, is when he passes out completely.


	9. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis' day, rather expectantly, isn't going to get any better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for continuing to read and comment. I enjoy hearing your thoughts on the chapters, especially as we start getting into parts of the plot where there's a lot of questioning over who's right and tensions between them increase. Their positions are starting to be set and that's only going to cause anger later on when they're forced to act on their thoughts.
> 
> Thanks also to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining errors are my own fault (and of the brace that locks my thumb in place and causes me to delete whole sentences.)

The next time he wakes, he is in a hospital bed. Someone is sitting next to him, one of his brothers, most likely. The pain is gone, replaced with fuzziness and a general heaviness that drags him back down to sleep. He rolls awake a few more times and then back down into unconsciousness, never quite completely aware of everything until he, at last, manages to fully wake. It is slow, with his senses gradually awakening. He hears what sounds like d’Artagnan and Porthos talking. One of his hands is numb and thick. When he moves it, or tries to, it is heavy and refuses to budge.

“’Mis, you more awake this time.” That sounds like Porthos. He forces his eyes open more and turns his head to look. His movements are slow.

“Wha…,” he mumbles, mouth dry and tongue thick. A cup with a straw appears before him and he takes a few sips before it is taken away.

“How’re you feeling,” Porthos asks.

“What happened,” he asks. The last thing he remembers is being at home with them in the kitchen helping with the food prep for the week.

“You don’t remember?”

“I was in the kitchen with you guys.”

“You cut your hand trying to cut up a watermelon. Your knife got stuck.”

“What? How?” That doesn’t make sense.

“It was bad, but you still have all of your fingers.”

“Why’m I here?” The drowsiness is kicking in again.

“You passed out when they were bringing you in. The beginnings of shock, Frice said. He wants to keep you here overnight to make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh.” He rolls his head back to look down at his hand. It’s wrapped in layers of gauze and resting on a pillow to keep it slightly above his body. He looks back up at Porthos, then back to where d’Artagnan and Athos sit near the end of the bed. Before he can speak again, his body succumbs to sleep again.

The next time he wakes, he feels more alert than each of the previous times. It doesn’t help that his hand has a dull ache. He turns his head to see Athos sitting next to the bed, reading a book.

“’thos,” he croaks. Athos sets the book aside and grabs the cup of water for him.

“You going to stay awake longer this time?” Athos sets the cup aside and turns back to him.

“Think so,” he mumbled, swallowing against the lingering dryness in his throat.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Tired and heavy. My hand hurts.”

“I’m not surprised. You did a number on it. You were very lucky. But it’s still going to be a painful recovery.”

“Sorry,” Aramis says after a long pause.

Athos raises an eyebrow.

“I keep winding up here.” Aramis swallows. “I know you won’t believe me, but I am trying to be responsible. I’m not trying to be careless and end up here. I don’t even know how this happened.” He raises his hand a couple inches for emphasis.

“Let’s be glad that it wasn’t any worse. That knife nearly cut to your bones.”

“Does Treville know yet?”

“I called him earlier to let him know. You’re going to be out for a while with these cuts and your ribs. And when you come back, it’s definitely desk duty.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s concerned. Frankly, we all are. It’s clear that you’re depressed, that you’re not bouncing back as well as you’d have us think from your breakup. And then there’s your string of accidents. You’ve nearly spent the last two months on desk duty.”

“I’m not causing these accidents myself,” Aramis says quickly. “They’re just that, accidents. It’s that stalker. That’s the reason.”

Athos sighs. “You do know that we’ve looked and there’s no sign of anyone following you. And the driver was texting and didn’t pay attention to the road.”

“Yes, I know, and I haven’t seen anyone either but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m not doing this myself. I’m not causing these accidents.”

“We never thought that. What we are concerned about is how tired you’ve been and that you’re still depressed. We’ve thought that maybe some time off would do you well. Allow you to get better rested.”

“Time off is the last thing I need. Twenty-four hours with just my thoughts to keep me company? No thanks.”

“You could stay with Sarah during the day.”

“I can’t impose on her for weeks until I’m all healed up and better.”

“Do you really think she would mind,” Athos asks.

“No, but I don’t think that time off is necessary, not a long period at least. I just need to get through the end of this month and pass the liaison job off to someone else. I’ll have more time and be better rested after that.”

“We’ll see what Frice says. He may not let you back at work yet.”

Aramis is quiet in response. Athos is sure that taking some time off will really benefit Aramis, but he’s happy to see some fight still in Aramis. It shows that he’s not gone too deep yet. Hopefully, if there is any time off, it goes well for Aramis. None of them will be able to take more than a day off. Whenever Aramis comes back, it would be simple desk duty and liaison work. In theory, it’s manageable but still, Athos is worried. They would all have to watch closely. Treville had pushed for leave but Athos convinced him that Aramis needed to make the decision himself. Administrative leave had been hard on him the last time and it wouldn’t be any easier this time. Athos is pleased that Aramis is willing to fight, so there is hope to get him a few weeks without something happening and getting him through this rough spot.

It’s nearly midnight when Porthos and d’Artagnan return. They’d gone home to clean the kitchen and bring with them snacks, some banana nut bread, grapes, and goldfish crackers, all things they knew Aramis liked and could easily eat with one hand.

“How’re you doing,” Porthos asks, settling down in a chair near the head of the bed after he’s arranged the snacks on the bed tray and moved it so that Aramis can easily grab pieces.

“Fine,” Aramis answers tiredly. He was close to dozing off when they walked in and with the throbbing that’s starting in his hand, he wishes that he had.

“I think he needs more pain medicine,” Athos says, standing to press the call button.

Aramis sighs but gives Athos a look of gratitude.

“You should eat a little more before they give you something. It won’t hit you as bad,” Porthos says.

“Not hungry.” Aramis tries not to grumble.

“I know you’re not, but you’ve hardly eaten anything today. Just munch on some goldfish until you get your medicine, okay?”

He’s really not hungry but he doesn’t want to argue with his friends or worry them more. So, he eats some of the goldfish until a nurse comes in with his medicine, which he gratefully swallows. Satisfied, Porthos pulls back the tray while Athos pulls the blanket up to cover him better. He’s closed his eyes when what feels like another blanket is laid over him. He opens his eyes to see d’Artagnan spreading out his favorite blanket, the one his grandmother made him, over top.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want Fidget tonight, but I thought you could use your blanket at the very least,” d’Artagnan says with a smile.

“Thanks,” Aramis says sleepily, pulling it up with his good hand to take in the smell, which never fails to remind him of summers with his grandmother.

Come morning, he is released after Frice checks on his ribs and the cuts to his hand. As Frice is re-bandaging his hand, Aramis catches a glimpse of the cuts. On each of his fingers, save the thumb, between his knuckles there is a carefully stitched cut. Each finger has also been splinted to keep him from moving them too much as they heal.

“The bandages should be changed once a day or whenever they get wet or dirty. You already know this, but it bears saying, it’s important that you keep those cuts clean. You don’t want infection to set it. It’s not going to make anything pleasant, okay?” Frice is sure to keep his tone light but serious as he speaks. He knows that Aramis is close to fraying at the edges and he doesn’t want to belittle the man, but he’d be a terrible doctor if he didn’t remind Aramis of the basic precautions.

Aramis nods. “I understand.”

“Now, the part you’re not going to like. You’re off work for at least the week. I don’t want you going in with broken ribs and cuts to your hand.”

“I can type with one hand,” Aramis says.

“I know you can, but you need to take time off to rest, let your body heal. And I recommend staying out of the kitchen too until your ribs are better.”

“Doctor?”

“You’ve not been sleeping well and you’re frustrated. Exhaustion and carelessness are dangerous in the kitchen. Let the others take care of food prep for a while and you take care of yourself.”

“Can I at least make coffee,” Aramis grumbles. He lets his irritation be known.

“I think you know exactly what I mean, Aramis.” Frice has never given into Aramis’ more petulant moods and he’s not going to start now. “Either I’ll want to see you back in Friday to get a look at the wounds or I can stop by the house. Send me a text Thursday to let me know what your plans are. Any questions?”

“No,” Athos says when Aramis doesn’t answer. “Thanks for your help.”

“Alright then. I’ll get your discharge papers written up and then you’ll be free to go. Get some rest Aramis and don’t be afraid to talk about it, okay?” Frice waits until Aramis gives him a slight nod, then leaves to file the paperwork. Porthos tries to get Aramis to eat some more of the snacks while they wait for the nurse to come in. Aramis grumbles more and refuses, sinking down on the bed. This morning, he doesn’t care how childish he’s acting. Porthos eventually gives up and sits back with the others to wait.

When the nurse finally does come, Aramis is quiet as she repeats the instructions Frice gave. She hands him a small bag of gauze and bandages to get him started. Her last step is to take out the IV. Once she’s gone, Aramis carefully sits up and gets to his feet. As soon as he’s standing, he feels himself swaying and his vision greys out slightly. The next thing he knows, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed with Porthos and Athos looking at him with twin looks of concern. d’Artagnan is right next to him on the bed, a gentle hand on his back to keep him upright. He notices that he’s also leaning into the younger man slightly.

“You back with us,” Athos asks.

Aramis nods, not trusting his voice to be steady and he really just wants out of here.

“We know, ‘Mis,” d’Artagnan says, rubbing Aramis’ back gently. “You ready to let us help?”

“Yeah,” Aramis says tiredly.

“Okay.” Between the three of them, they get Aramis dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie. They’d brought the clothes last night knowing how tired and sore he was likely to be this morning. When he’s dressed and ready to go, d’Artagnan pulls up the wheelchair, which Aramis doesn’t complain about. That alone is enough to worry them, knowing how badly each of them nearly makes a scene over having to be wheeled out. They exchange a look but table the discussion for later. More important right now is getting Aramis home.

However, once Aramis is home, he shrugs them off to go up to his room and shuts the door.

“Let’s leave him be for a while,” Athos says when Porthos is ready to follow Aramis. “He’s likely just going to sleep for the morning. You can go up in a few hours. I think he mostly just needs some time to himself right now.”

“Alright.” Porthos gives in with a sigh. He’s not pleased with the idea of leaving Aramis alone because it’s clear that he’s not doing well and he knows it’s not just his wounds. But, he’ll give into Athos, for now.

“He should be good for a while,” d’Artagnan adds. “He at least had his pain medicine at the hospital.”

The others nod in agreement. They go their own ways to get cleaned up after a night spent at the hospital. Today, fortunately, is Labor Day and they aren’t on duty. That has fallen to another team, something that each of them is grateful for. None of them would’ve functioned well knowing that Aramis was struggling today. Wordlessly, after they wash up and get in clean clothes, they congregate around the island in the kitchen. Porthos gets coffee going and pulls some snacks from the fridge for them to munch on.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong with Aramis,” d’Artagnan says. “Why’d he get so mad about being off work? He really shouldn’t be at work with those cuts.”

“He hates time off,” Porthos says.

“But he needs it.”

“Yes, he does. But he also doesn’t need so much time to himself. He’ll just get in his own head and be worse at the end of the day than he started out. That’s how it always was that first year.” Porthos sets three cups of coffee on the island.

“We could always send him over to Sarah’s,” Athos suggests, taking a cautious sip of his coffee.

“You really think he’s going to go for that?”

“He won’t like it, but I don’t think he should be here alone while we’re at work and we can’t afford to take time off.”

“No, I agree. He shouldn’t be here alone but he’s going to feel like he’s being babysat,” Porthos says. He stirs some sugar into his coffee.

“Perhaps we tell him it’s to look after the dogs and kids so that Sarah can study. The semester is just starting and I’m sure she’s swamped with practicals and homework,” d’Artagnan suggests.

“You think he’d go for it?” Porthos looks to Athos.

“It’s worth a shot and it would keep him busy. That’s really the key thing here.”

They opt to have Sarah make the suggestion knowing that Aramis is less likely to fight her. They’re sure that he’ll see through the plan, but he won’t back out because he knows that he will be helping Sarah.


	10. A Slight Lull In Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis catches a bit of a break, or so he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

Aramis wakes on his own a few hours after closing himself off in his room. Porthos, Athos, and d’Artagnan are in the kitchen working on meal preparation that was cut short yesterday. Aramis wanders down the stairs, feeling a little more rested, his hand heavy and thick. The painkillers are still in his system, so he doesn’t hurt but he still moves slowly, unconsciously favoring his ribs.

Just short of the kitchen, he stops, thinking about asking if he’s allowed to step in the kitchen but he stops himself. The initial anger has faded.

“Aramis, you’re up,” d’Artagnan says. “Come sit down.” He points to the stool next to him.

“How’re you feeling,” Porthos asks as Aramis takes a seat. Athos gets him a cup of water.

“Okay, I guess.” Aramis thanks Athos for the water and takes a drink. “Sorry about earlier. My attitude and everything.”

“It’s okay. I’m sure Frice’s orders were a shock.”

“They were but they’re reasonable. I don’t think I’d be terribly good at work right now.” He lifts his bandaged hand as evidence. “Can’t say though that I’m looking forward to days spent idling away around here.”

“What about staying at Sarah’s during the day,” d’Artagnan asks, remembering only after that they were leaving it up to Sarah to ask.

“I wouldn’t want to barge in on her. I’ll just spend the time here.”

“Give her a call at least,” Porthos says. “She might need some help looking after the kids and the dogs. It’s the start of the semester and she has practicals to try to fit into her schedule.”

“I don’t know.”

“She’s going to need some help. Meg might be in school but it’s half-day kindergarten. And you know she’d love to have you there for the week.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen any of the kids. It would be a nice break.”

“Give her a call,” Athos says, handing Aramis his phone.

There’s a little hesitation on Aramis’ part but he does make the call. The others do their best not to look like they’re listening but from what they can gather, Sarah doesn’t let it slip that they’ve spoken with her about this earlier.

“She said she’d be glad to have the help,” Aramis says when he’s done talking with her.

“You okay with that,” Porthos asks.

“It’s something to do.” Aramis shrugs his shoulders. With his head down, running a finger idly around the edge of his glass, Aramis doesn’t see the others look at each other.

“We were thinking of putting together some lunch,” Porthos says. “You hungry?”

“Not really but I’m guessing that I need to eat something.”

“Anything you feel like having?”

“No. Whatever you guys are planning is fine. I’m going to go watch TV in the den. Let me know when lunch is ready.”

“That was quite the change,” d’Artagnan says once Aramis out of the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Porthos says.

“He’s depressed,” Athos says.

“Does he realize it?”

“We’ve talked about it. I think he saw some of the signs, but he doesn’t want to admit to it.”

“Should we start looking for a psychiatrist,” Porthos asks.

“No. He knows what he needs to do and he has to do this himself. We’ll help him, but just like last time, it was up to him to make the choice.”

“You know I hate seeing him like this,” Porthos says, worry clear in his voice.

“He’s not alone. We know better this time. We’re not letting him go that deep again.”

d’Artagnan looks between them, trying to find a place in the conversation but he knows that Porthos and Athos are most familiar with Aramis’ depression.

“Things will be fine, d’Artagnan,” Porthos says. “This isn’t the first time he’s dipped back down. He’s recovered each time. We just have to be there to support him with whatever he needs.”

“Even if he doesn’t realize he needs it,” Athos adds.

Despite his fluctuating moods, the next few days go well for Aramis. Spending the afternoons with Meg is enjoyable and they only improve when Tim and Ben get home. His depressed mood isn’t gone, but it is much lighter thanks to their presence. As he plays with them and helps them with their homework, even supervising them in the kitchen as they surprise their parents one evening with dinner and dessert, he forgets about the irritation, about the stalker that no one can find, and about the string of injuries that have put him on medical leave.

He’s careful to rebandage his hand daily. The others help him to make sure that it’s clean and neatly rebandaged. Later in the week, when he goes to see Frice about his hand, he asks when he can go back to work.

“We’ve talked about this, Aramis,” Frice says, his voice slightly irritated. The wounds looked good and he’s now rebandaging them.

“Funny, I don’t remember a lot of talking going on. It was more of being told what I couldn’t do.” Aramis can’t keep the anger out of his words.

“Do you trust me?” Frice stops his work to look Aramis in the eyes.

“Yes,” Aramis answers without hesitation.

“And do you trust that I have your best interest in mind?”

“Yes.”

“Then trust me when I say that you’re not ready to go back to work. You’re already in a far better mood after less than a week off and it’s no doubt helped with your wounds.”

“Porthos and the others talked Sarah into having me babysit the kids this week while she gets adjusted to the semester. They think I don’t know what they did.” Aramis smiles at the memory of hearing them talk about how well their plan was going. They were quite pleased that he was doing better.

“You like looking after the kids, though.” Frice continues his work on Aramis’ hand.

“I do and it has been fun. Last night they wanted to surprise their parents by cooking dinner. They’re all quite good in the kitchen, even Meg. Don’t worry,” Aramis says quickly, anticipating a complaint from Frice. “I just supervised them. My hands didn’t even touch a utensil. I don’t think they would’ve let me anyway, not after finding out what happened. Meg even made sure the boys were very careful in cutting things up.”

“I think your week has done you good. Why don’t you spend next week doing the same?”

“I can’t impose on the Trevilles for another week.”

“I don’t think they’ll mind. You’re looking after the kids so they don’t have to worry about what they’re getting into or finding a babysitter for them. And, the kids love you, don’t they?”

“Yeah, but I’d really like to get back to work.”

“Let’s see how your hand is on Wednesday. I’ll re-evaluate it then and we’ll see about work. But I’ll warn you that the most I’ll allow are half-days. Nothing more. You still need to rest your body, so it can heal and it won’t do that at work.”

“You do know that I’m going to run out of time-off if I have to take many more days off.”

“Then see if you can get some days donated. I know they’ve done that before for officers in need.”

“I’ll talk with the Captain.” Before Aramis leaves, a nurse gives him another set of materials for bandaging his hand. It’s enough to last him through the start of next week. After a week at the Treville’s, he’s looking forward to a weekend at home.

d’Artagnan suggests going out to a movie when they’re sitting down for dinner that night.

“I’m okay with it,” Porthos says.

“I could go.” Athos shrugs his shoulders.

“You three go, I’ll stay here,” Aramis says.

“We can see something else,” d’Artagnan suggests.

“It’s fine. I just don’t feel like going out.”

“You’ve been talking about this one for a bit. I thought you’d want to see it once it came out.”

Aramis takes a steadying breath. “I know, but I don’t want to now. I don’t feel like going out.”

“Oh.”

“I am fine with whatever,” Athos says. He sees behind Aramis’ words. Part of his recovery was learning not just the signs of depression but also of when a panic attack might be coming on. Lemay had taught him to realize when he might be more prone to them, so he could avoid triggering situations. It was useful during the first couple years, letting them know when they could all go out to do their shopping or when Aramis was best off staying at the station instead of going out with them for investigations. Now it’s very rare that Aramis feels himself in such situations but he’s always more prone when he’s dealing with depression or PTSD.

“You and me can go out,” Porthos suggests to d’Artagnan.

“No, that’s fine,” d’Artagnan says.

“d’Artagnan,” Aramis begins, catching the younger man’s attention. “Go, see the movie. You’ve been talking about it for a few months now. You all can go see it and leave me here. I’m perfectly fine with that.”

“Well, if it’s alright with you, I’m just going to stay here,” Athos says, a hint of humor in his voice. “Sitting next to strangers who are munching away mindlessly on popcorn isn’t my ideal way of spending a few hours of my time.”

“You sure you want to go,” d’Artagnan asks Porthos.

“I wouldn’t’ve said so if I didn’t mean it. Find a time and we’ll go.”

The next day, while d’Artagnan and Porthos are at the movies, Aramis and Athos sit in the den. Athos is watching college football which Aramis mostly tunes out as he works on some sketches.

“What’re you working on,” Athos asks, turning the TV volume down. The game is still on, but he’s curious about what’s been keeping Aramis so busy. Given last night’s conversation, he expected him to lounge around much of the day on the verges of a mood.

“Some designs for Halloween,” Aramis answers idly.

“You remember the restrictions, right?”

“Yes, I remember the restrictions,” Aramis half parrots back. “I was at the meeting, too.” In the past, their HOA hadn’t allowed lawn decorations for any holiday. This is the first year they’ll be allowed but they have to fit certain rules which are designed mostly to keep out tacky decorations like inflatables and an over-abundance of decorations.

“So, what are you thinking?”

“Maybe a ghost, a pumpkin, a scarecrow, and something that says Happy Halloween. I’ll cut out holes in certain places to stick string lights in.”

“Made of wood?”

“Yeah, if I can ever get back out there to work.”

“You will. You just need to give this time.”

“Athos, please understand this from my perspective. I am not allowed to do anything. I can’t work. I can’t bake. I can’t work in my workshop. I can only sit here, draw, and watch college football.”

“I understand that you’re frustrated but the rest is allowing your body to heal. If you kept working, your recovery time would be longer.”

“Logically, I know that. But you know I’ve never enjoyed downtime. None of us do well at it.”

“I know.”

There’s silence for a while, the game commentary low in the background.

“As much as I don’t like it, the time off is helping and not just with the injuries,” Aramis says, keeping his eyes on his work.

“And the kids are enjoying having you there?” As much progress as they’ve made in five years and as much as they stress honesty in terms of their health especially, Athos knows what it took for Aramis to admit to the time off being the right thing.

“Yes, and they’re excited to know that I’ll be back for at least part of next week, probably all seeing as how even if I am cleared for duty, it’s only half-days. I think they’re planning out a more extravagant menu for Monday’s meal. Tim is coming to be quite a good cook and he seems to really enjoy it. When I left yesterday they were all on Pinterest looking up recipes.”

“The Captain may not let you come back to work after two weeks of looking after the kids,” Athos jokes.

“We haven’t cooked every night, but they like surprising their parents. I think Monday’s meal might not be so much of a surprise though. Those kids aren’t too good about keeping their voices quiet.”

“Hmm. We’ll have to work on that.” Athos doesn’t want the kids to keep secrets from their parents, but he does want them to know to keep quiet in case of emergencies. He and the others take a lot of comfort in knowing that the kids know how to act in emergency situations. He just hopes none of them ever have to put any of this into action.

“Another covert mission? They’ll love that,” Aramis says chuckling lightly.

“Once you’re all healed up, we’ll look at setting a date. Maybe we can get Constance involved too. She should be back from her vacation by then.”

“She’ll be back in a week.” Constance had spent her summer in various classes to improve her fieldwork and tactical skills. After their first year, all cadets were sent to these classes. After three straight months of work on top of the first year of graduate studies, cadets were given a few weeks off from work to focus on school and have some downtime.

The rest of the weekend goes well with Aramis in a better mood. They don’t forget about the depression, but it does slip to the back of their minds as d’Artagnan joins Aramis in planning the decorations and Athos helps Porthos do the prep work for the week. d’Artagnan also pitches in while Aramis sits at the island and kibitzes.

When Meg gets off the bus on Monday she hands Aramis a list.

“We need to get some stuff for dinner,” Meg says. She’s walking alongside Aramis as they go back home.

“This is quite a list.” Aramis studies the list. “You sure that your parents don’t have any of these things at home already?”

“Yup.” She gives a confident head nod. “Ben, Tim, and me checked. I have our allowance money to pay for it.”

“Well, once we get home and get some lunch, we can head out.” Their list isn’t very expensive, but Aramis doubts that between the three of them the kids have enough. It wasn’t long ago that they all pooled their money to buy d’Artagnan a birthday present.

An hour later, they’re at the store. Meg is happily picking out the items they need but she still remembers to move slowly so that Aramis doesn’t pull on his healing ribs. It makes the shopping trip longer, but Aramis doesn’t mind. It’s slow and he’s having a good time shopping with Meg.

It’s when they’re just about done, passing by an employee setting up a display of alcohol on their way to pick up some eggs that the peacefulness is ruined. Aramis sees the display rocking before the employee calls out to them and so when the cases of beer do topple over he’s already pushed Meg out of the way. He’s on his way out from under the collapsing tower when he’s caught by a case of beer. It hits his shoulder and sends him off balance. Fortunately, he doesn’t land flat on his back, just on his butt. It still hurts but not as bad as it could.

“Are you okay, ‘Mis,” Meg asks, coming back to see him.

“Yeah.” He shakes his head a little to clear out the confusion from the fall and tests his old injuries as well as checks to see if there are new ones. His shoulder is a bit sore, but he seems to be fine except for the puddle of beer he finds himself sitting in. That’s not so bad, he thinks, but then he sees his hand, the one he cut in the kitchen a week ago, soaked in beer. He holds back a curse.

“Mister, are you okay?” That’s the employee who was setting up the display.

“I think so. But I do need to get cleaned up.” As Aramis slowly gets to his feet, he feels his clothes soaked to his skin, the smell of beer permeating his senses.

“You can get cleaned up in the backroom, Aramis,” a familiar voice says. It’s the manager, Irene. Aramis and the others are here often enough that the staff know them. “We’ll get your groceries taken care of.”

“I need some bandages,” Aramis says, following Irene back. Meg walks next to him.

“I can go get them,” Meg says. “I know what you need.” They stop in the middle of the walkway.

“Holly, would you take Aramis back to the break room. Let’s go get the bandages,” Irene says, looking down at Meg. The young girl is familiar with her and Irene knows that Aramis will feel better if Meg has company to go get the bandages.

“Here, Meg,” Aramis says, taking out his wallet to pull some cash out that was only slightly wet on the edges. “This should be enough to cover the cost.”

“Don’t worry about it. The store will cover the cost. It’s the least we can do and we’ll settle out other things later. Let’s go get the stuff we need so we can come back and get that hand taken care of.” Aramis watches as Irene and Meg go off before following Holly back to the breakroom.

While they are gone, Aramis carefully unwraps the bandages, tossing them in a trashcan and does his best to dry out the wound and clean it up from any sticky residue. Irene and Meg return in minutes with the needed bandages and a new pair of pants. Aramis gives Irene a questioning look, knowing that the store doesn’t sell clothing.

“I sent someone to the clothing store just down the road. It’s nothing great, but at least they’re dry,” Irene explains.

“Thanks,” he says with a smile to let her know that he appreciates the thought. He sets the sweatpants on the counter. When he has his hand taken care of, he’ll change.

“You need help with your hand?”

“No, I think I got it. I’m pretty used to taking care of it by now.” He’s sure to keep the stitches turned away from Irene, knowing how the sight of blood, sometimes just the thought, makes her chest hurt.

“Here, ‘Mis,” Meg says, holding out the first set of bandages. Whether it’s her age or because she’s too used to seeing them injured in some way, Meg is comfortable around his injury. She’s helped him a couple times last week to re-tape the bandages and once to completely re-do the bandage when part of it got wet.

After Tim and Ben get home they start in on getting dinner put together. Aramis sits at the breakfast bar watching and talking them through their cooking. He’s showered the best he can and changed into some clothes he kept there. As he sits in the kitchen, he’s careful not to move his hand too much or twist his abdomen as both ache still from the fall. Irene wanted to sort out the ramifications of the accident then, but he convinced her to wait. Later, when he wasn’t hurting or smelling of beer, he’d get it settled. He knows there’s a lawsuit there, but he doesn’t care. It was an accident that could happen to anyone and suing the store would put them out of business very likely. He just needs to be in the right frame of mind to convince Irene of that and perhaps take Porthos or Athos with him as both are better at that legal talk than him.

They all convince him to stay for dinner, which is a pleasant surprise for Sarah and Treville. When he goes home that night, he’s forgotten about everything that happened and finds himself rather happy. It’s a strange feeling and it’s really only then that it hits him, as he’s lying in bed trying to sleep, that he had been sinking into depression. While a single evening or even week isn’t enough to cure it, he knows, he does feel like he stands a better chance of fighting it now.

By Tuesday evening, after another day with the Treville kids, Aramis’ good mood is wavering. His hand has a slight ache and he’s feeling nauseous. Still, when the others come home with pizza from his favorite place, he forces himself to eat enough that it doesn’t alert them to anything. With the time he’s spent around the kids over the last week plus, it’s likely, he thinks, that he picked up a cold from one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you are unfamiliar with what an HOA is, it stands for Homeowner's Association. I'm not sure that they exist outside of the US. You typically find them in wealthier neighborhoods. Homeowners pay a yearly fee, the amount of which varies by HOA, required as a part of buying a house in the neighborhood. The money can be for any number of things but in general HOA's can make any number of rules for their neighborhood. For example, my parents recently moved into an HOA (their first time ever) and the HOA simply requires that all houses have a lamp post lit in their yard. Some HOA's are really strict while others are pretty loose. Athos bought a house in Lake Bluff, Illinois. Having gone to college in a town nearby, I can imagine that they would have strict HOA laws.


	11. Something's Not Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis' brief reprieve is over and he's left wondering what's wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own fault.

Wednesday he doesn’t go to the Treville’s because he has his appointment with Frice. Instead, he forces himself out of bed when the others get up. He eats breakfast with them, chatting idly as they eat and get ready to head out. Then he goes to the den and settles on the couch to watch TV until his late morning appointment. As chills overtake him, he pulls down the blanket from the back of the couch and carefully stretches out, his head on a pillow on the far end of the couch so he can still watch TV.  

He doesn’t realize that he’s dozed off until he wakes to the sound of the front door opening. The noise puts him on edge immediately. It pushes the heaviness in his body and thickness in his mind to the side. He doesn’t have any weapons with him and the key to the gun safe is on his keychain in the kitchen. While he understands and fully supports Athos’ rule about not hiding weapons around the house, he really wishes he’d been able to keep his knife taped under the armchair. Porthos was often the one who’d found it, repeatedly. Every time they took it away, he’d find it and put it back. It was never used but it was there until a few years ago when he put it in the safe himself. Still, without a weapon, he’s dangerous. That much he knows.

He moves carefully to the door of the den, keeping his footsteps quiet. Even if whoever has entered knows that he’s there, he knows that surprise is his best weapon. Before he can dare to sneak a glance out, the person calls out.

“Aramis?” It’s Sarah. “Aramis, are you home?”

“Sarah?” Aramis steps out into the hallway to see Sarah and Meg standing out several feet from the doorway looking worried. “What’s wrong?”

“We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the past hour. You missed your appointment with Frice. We were worried that something might’ve happened. Jean called me to come check on you. The others couldn’t get away from the office.” As she talks, she slowly moves closer to Aramis, taking note of his pale face with a touch of red on his cheeks. His hair is ruffled with sleep and he looks like he could sleep more still. Then, there’s the tension that’s yet to leave him. She knows that coming in as she did put him on edge and it’s only a matter of time until that tension leaves him.

“It can’t be that late.” Aramis checks his watch and sure enough, it’s early afternoon. Two hours past his appointment. “I just stretched out to warm up and then…”

“Are you feeling okay?” She restrains from checking him for a fever. Now’s not the time to touch him without ample warning.

“What?” He looks at her, then nods his head. “Yeah. I just didn’t realize I was that tired. I need to call Frice and get that appointment rescheduled.” He searches his pockets for his phone, belatedly remembering that he wedged it in the couch cushions to keep it from falling and getting lost, and, he thinks absently, effectively silencing it.

“It’s taken care of. He didn’t have any more appointments for today, but he does tomorrow. His decision, not ours,” she adds.

“Oh.”

“Why don’t you go send him a quick text and let him know that things are okay. I told him that you’d let him know.” Sarah tries to nudge him back into the den.

Fortunately, he’s starting to calm down. She knows too that Meg’s presence helps as he makes his way back to the den. Sarah stops at the doorway to give Jean a quick call.

“Is he okay,” Treville asks before greeting her.

“Hello, and yes, he’s fine. Mostly at least.”

“Sorry. Hi and thank you for checking on him. I’ll let the others know. They’ve been in here and checking their phones every few minutes.”

“He was asleep apparently. His ringer must’ve been down or something.”

“You said he was mostly fine?”

“I wondered when you’d catch that.” She can’t help a little chuckle. Aramis not answering his phone and not showing up at his appointment had put them all on edge but it is a relief to know that he’s okay. “I think he’s coming down with something. He looks pale and like he might have a touch of a fever. Not to mention he fell asleep in the middle of the day and was chilled earlier, he said. He must’ve picked up something from the kids. Ben was looking a little under the weather this weekend.”

“It wasn’t anything serious though.”

“No, and it probably isn’t with Aramis either but considering everything he’s been through the last couple months, it might hit him a little harder. Meg and I are going to stick around for a bit, at the very least to make sure he’s okay.”

“You want one of the boys to come home?”

“No. They’re busy on a case and I can handle Aramis just fine. I’ll call the school and have them get Ben and Tim on the bus that drops off near here.”

“Okay. Call if you need anything. Good luck with Aramis.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll be needing much luck, not with Meg around. He behaves pretty well around the kids.” As she ends the conversation, she watches Meg put a blanket around Aramis’ shoulders. Before she joins them, she grabs the med kit from the downstairs bathroom. Whether he likes it or not, she needs to see if he has a fever.

“How’re you feeling,” Sarah asks, sitting on the couch next to Aramis. She moves Meg to the side. He’s leaning into the side of the couch with the blanket pulled up around him tighter.  

“Tired, cold,” he answers. The honesty is unsurprising. He and the others maintain this, as a rule, to be truthful about their well-being, especially in front of the kids.

“You think you have a fever?”

“Maybe. Do you think so?” He sees the med kit and dreads finding out if he’s got a cold on top of everything else. If he does, he might just lock himself up in his room for a month. They’d all be happy with that because it’d keep him out of trouble.

He feels the node of the thermometer in his ear but doesn’t complain. He figures he has a fever, a mild one most likely, which has contributed to his chills.

“100 even,” Sarah says when the thermometer beeps.

“Really?” He gives her a surprised look.

She nods. “Why don’t you go get changed into something more comfortable. Meg and I will go get some lunch together.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I figured as much but you need to eat something. And Meg and I are hungry. We haven’t had much more than a snack before heading over.”

Aramis holds back a curse. “Sorry. You should’ve waited. I was fine here. Just sleeping away.”

“We didn’t go hungry and you’re more important than a meal. But, since we have things settled for now. We’ll get something put together. Something light for you. You, go get into something more comfortable. You’re not doing anything more than lying on the couch this afternoon.”

He gives a sigh but pushes to his feet. “Lying on the couch seems to be all I do lately,” he mumbles on his way out.

“That’s hardly true and you know it,” she says lightly. “Let’s go see what’s in the fridge, Meg.”

In the fridge, they find stuff to make sandwiches. Sarah sets Meg to work on putting together a sandwich for each of them while she goes to the pantry to find a jar of Porthos’ chicken and rice soup, which she empties into a pot and gets it warming on the stove. Then she dishes out fruit and vegetables for them. The soup is just starting to get warm by the time Aramis comes back down, dressed now in sweatpants, a t-shirt, and zip-up hoodie. He looks much more comfortable now.

“This is too much,” Aramis says, looking at the array of food.

“The soup is mainly for you, but I thought you might be able to manage part of a sandwich as well,” Sarah says.

“I doubt it.” He takes a few glasses out of the cupboard, filling them with water to help them set the table.

“If you don’t, then it’ll go in the fridge for later.”

“d’Artagnan’s likely to get it before me if you do that. He’s always got the munchies for something. I don’t know how he’s still a stick.”

“He’s a growing boy,” Sarah says with a smile.

“He’s twenty-five,” Aramis counters lightly.

“He’ll slow down at some point.”

“He needs to or he’s going to have issues later on.” When the soup is heated up, Sarah pours a good portion of it into a bowl for Aramis and the remaining into two smaller bowls for her and Meg. She sets the bowls on the island and joins the other two who are already sitting, waiting for her to finish up. As they start into eating, Aramis is hesitant at first, leaving her to wonder if he is nauseous as well. Those thoughts fade as he moves from slowly eating, to a steadier pace. They continue talking as they eat with Meg taking over parts of the conversation to tell them about her day at school. Next month the school has an international fair with many local groups coming to share their culture with the children and Meg’s class has been planning and learning about their contribution to the fair, Spain. She’s already roped Aramis into baking some traditional desserts that his grandmother taught him as a child.

As they talk, Aramis finishes the soup and munches on the fruits and vegetables. When he’s done, he’s eaten more than she expected. He takes his painkiller and they clean up the kitchen before going to the den, where they let Meg choose what they’re watching. She settles on a kid’s science show on PBS that all of the kids enjoy testing out the science experiments they do.

Aramis settles on the couch in a corner and Meg leaning up against him as they watch TV. As the afternoon wears on, Sarah sees Aramis pull the hoodie tighter around him and pull his feet up underneath him, seeking warmth anyway he can. Eventually, she grabs a nearby blanket and, after nudging Meg aside temporarily, drapes the blanket on him, letting it fall against his chest. He’s drifting at times but the blanket wakes him up.

“I’m going to pick up Ben and Tim at the bus. Meg’s going to stay here with you,” Sarah says.

Aramis apologizes again. “I’ll be fine here. Why don’t you take Meg and pick up the boys then head home?”

“It’s all been settled, Aramis. Meg’s not staying here to look after you. I don’t think I could drag her away from this show right now or from your side.” For emphasis, Meg snuggles in tighter against Aramis, who unconsciously puts an arm around her. “Ben and Tim will be excited to see you and hang out. Plus, they’ll get to see the rest of their uncles later. It’ll be a treat for them.”

“Okay.” Aramis nods. He doesn’t have the energy to argue further and he’s too grateful for their company to argue more anyway.

When Sarah comes back with Ben and Tim, Aramis and Meg haven’t moved. In fact, Aramis feels far too comfortable and is finally warm to consider moving. The boys join them in the den while Sarah puts together a small snack for them as dinner will be late.

As the afternoon turns to evening, Tim works on his homework while Ben and Meg settle on something else to watch. Sarah texts Treville to have him bring home food, deciding that they’ll all eat there tonight. Aramis isn’t doing any worse, but he’s also not improved any. She’s concerned about his fever, which has stuck around, and his willingness to stay in one place for hours. He hasn’t fought her on anything this afternoon.

“Aramis,” she says, coming to stand on the side of the couch he’s leaning against. It’s early evening and Treville’s texted her to let her know that they’re on the train. “Porthos and the others will be back in about an hour.”

“It’s that late already?” He looks lazily at the clock on the wall.

“Yeah. Jean’s bringing some food. Do your bandages need to be changed?”

“Um… Yeah. I guess so.”

“Do you want one of them to change it or me? I thought you might want to get it done before dinner.”

“Yeah. But I can get it. It’s not a problem.”

“I know you can take care of it, but seeing as how you’re not feeling well today, I thought you might like some help with it.”

Aramis hesitates but gives in. He slowly extricates himself from the pile of kids on him. Meg is leaning against him and Ben has wormed his way on his lap. He’s a bit unsteady when he finally gets to his feet but he’s not sure if it’s from not feeling well or having spent so much time sitting. Once he has his feet under him, he and Sarah go to the bathroom to take care of his hand.

In the bathroom, he sits on the toilet lid and starts undoing the bandaging. Sarah uses small scissors to carefully cut the gauze wrapped around his fingers. She sees the redness before he does.

“Are these infected,” she asks once she’s cut away the last of the gauze. Aramis brings his hand closer to take a look.

“I hope not. I’ve been really careful.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Let’s make sure that they’re good and clean, then bandage them up. I’ll check on them in the morning to see how they’re doing. I’ll be seeing Frice tomorrow anyway. He can let me know if there’s something to be worried about. Right now, it could just be a slight irritation.”

“If you’re sure.” Sarah trusts Aramis’ judgment. During his time in the Navy, he took several medic courses and has kept them up in his time as a Musketeer. He’s not an EMT or nurse by any means, but he knows more than just the basics.

“Yeah, I am. I’ll tell the others later, once the kids are gone. I don’t want to put any ideas in their minds. I’m sure that this is nothing.”

“How are you feeling otherwise,” she asks.

“No worse than earlier. Kind of like to sleep the rest of the night but I’m not sure if that’s because I’m getting a cold or because I’ve been depressed.”

Sarah hums lightly as she pulls out what she’ll need to clean his hand. “How has the depression been?”

“You know, there are the ups and downs. It’s been better lately. I’m just getting tired of being injured all the time. How’s the start of your semester going?”

“Busy, but I’m liking it. I love having the kids, but it’s been really nice to get back to school and learning things.” She knows what Aramis is doing and lets him have his way. He’s looking livelier now, anyway, which is encouraging.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” They continue talking about her program as she works on his hand. There are some tense moments as she’s cleaning when he winces and hisses, but it goes well and they’re done before the others get back. So, when they all come in through the garage door, Aramis is nestled back on the couch with Meg, Ben, and Tim sitting with him.


	12. Waxing Poetic,... Sorry Philosophical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's up with that hand or is he just getting sick?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

After dinner, Sarah and Treville work on getting their kids moving. Not only is it a school night, but they can see Aramis growing more tired but putting up a front to keep the kids entertained and they see Porthos, Athos, and d’Artagnan growing concerned about Aramis.

When they finally do head out, Aramis has nodded off. They carefully pull Ben from Aramis’ side and nudge the children quietly to the door.

“The last I checked, his fever was still around 100,” Sarah says. She and her family as well as Porthos, Athos, and d’Artagnan are standing at the front door.

“Do you think he’s coming down with something,” d’Artagnan asks.

“He might be,” she hedges, remembering that Aramis didn’t want to say anything in front of the children. How much they would understand, she isn’t sure, but she’ll respect his wishes.

“What’s wrong,” Porthos asks, voice tinged with worry.

“Probably nothing and you’ll need to talk with him. I told him I’d let him tell you guys.”

“We’ll talk to him.”

“Be nice. He’s doing his best to be proactive. He’s not trying to be difficult.”

“We know,” Athos says. “And we’ll be careful in our approach. We’re just worried about him.”

“I know,” Sarah says.

“Let us know how things go,” Treville says. “And if anything happens. We’re just a phone call away.”

“Of course. And thanks for looking after him this afternoon,” Porthos says as the Trevilles walk to their car.

“You’re welcome,” Sarah says.

“What do you think that was about,” d’Artagnan asks once the Trevilles are in their car and the front door is closed.

“His hand, maybe,” Porthos suggests.

“Very likely that. But let’s let him tell us,” Athos says. “Sarah is very much right. He’s not taking this lightly, not like he has some of his other injuries.”

They gradually walk back to the den, looking in to see Aramis still asleep on the couch, his bandaged hand curled protectively against his chest.

“You think we should wake him up,” Athos asks.

“He’ll be more comfortable in bed,” Porthos says. “And he’ll be able to rest better.”

Aramis wakes with a slight start but once he sees it’s them, he calms down.

“What,” he asks rubbing his eyes with his good hand.

“We thought you might like heading up to bed where you can be more comfortable, especially if you’re just going to sleep,” Porthos says.

“But I’m comfortable right here on the couch.”

“You’d be more comfortable up in your room,” d’Artagnan says.

“Are you guys trying to tell me something?”

“How are you feeling,” Athos asks, seeing that they’re not going to get anywhere with moving Aramis upstairs at the moment.

“Tired.”

“Are you still chilled?” Athos takes out the thermometer to check his temperature.

“Not so much right now. Kind of toasty under these blankets.”

“Well, given that it’s a nice 70 degrees outside you probably shouldn’t be comfortable under a couple blankets,” Porthos teases.

Aramis gives a slight shrug of his shoulders. He looks to Athos when the thermometer beeps.

“A bit higher. 100.4. Are you feeling sick at all,” Athos asks.

“Just cold and a little nauseous.” Aramis pauses. “I’m not sure if it’s a cold though.”

“What are you thinking,” Porthos asks.

“There’s some redness around the cuts.”

“Infection,” d’Artagnan asks.

“Maybe but I’m not sure how. I’ve been careful to keep it clean. In fact, the only time it really got wet was the other day at the store when it was soaked in beer and I made sure it was clean after that.” Aramis speaks quickly.

“We know,” Porthos says. “How serious do you think it is?”

“I’m not sure. I was going to see how it looks in the morning. I’ll be seeing Frice tomorrow anyway, so it shouldn’t be too big of a deal.”

Porthos sighs. His worry for Aramis makes him want to pick the younger man up and drag him to the ER to get the wounds checked out but he knows that will only make Aramis back away. “Okay, but if you start feeling worse, let us know.”

“Of course. Now, can I go back to resting? Whatever this is, sleep will only help.”

“You sure you don’t want to go upstairs,” d’Artagnan asks.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m perfectly happy down here. If someone is wanting the couch, then they can take the choice of my head or feet.”

“Fine, but I don’t want your feet. Sit up a bit,” Porthos says, gently helping the man up, mindful of his ribs. He then slips in behind Aramis and lowers his head onto his lap. Aramis shimmies down on the couch to get comfortable.

“Your legs aren’t as comfortable as usual, Porthos. What’s going on?” Aramis looks up at the man, a smile coloring his features.

“My purpose in life isn’t to be your pillow,” Porthos retorts.

“But it is right now and you’re not so comfortable.”

“Would you like d’Artagnan? He’s just skin and bones.”

“Hey,” d’Artagnan squawks.

“Here.” Athos hands Porthos a pillow.

“Much better.” Aramis sighs happily as he relaxes into the pillow. It’s not a thick pillow but it’s enough to make resting in Porthos’ lap more comfortable. “Thanks Athos and thanks Porthos.”

“You’re welcome. Now, at least we can settle into TV without you griping about being uncomfortable,” Athos says, a slight lilt to his voice. Aramis gives him a mock hurt look but doesn’t continue the conversation, instead settling back in to watch TV and doze.

Aramis dozes easily for a while, despite the noise of the TV. A couple hours into their evening, he grows restless. Porthos puts a gentle hand on his chest to try to calm him.

“You’re fine, ‘Mis,” Porthos says quietly. Athos has muted the TV while he and d’Artagnan watch, waiting to see if Aramis will settle down. When Aramis doesn’t respond, Porthos keeps up the calm words, rubbing his hand gently over Aramis’ chest, hoping to rouse him at least long enough to break the dreams. It works but he returns with a loud gasp and a wince and he tries to sit up against Porthos’ hand.

“Just stay still, ‘Mis.” Porthos keeps his hand on the man’s chest to keep him from moving.

“Huh?” Aramis blinks a few times, still feeling the pull of sleep.

“You were dreaming. It didn’t seem like a good dream, so I thought I’d get you out of it.”

“Hmm?” Aramis runs his good hand over his face, trying to push away the remains of his dream. “No, it wasn’t a good one.” He tries again to push off of Porthos but doesn’t get far. “I need to sit up,” he says, a slight panic in his voice. Quickly, Porthos helps him shift so that he’s sitting up, leaning heavily against the back of the couch and Porthos. He pulls his legs up.

“Aramis,” Athos asks, concern clear.

“It was just a dream,” Aramis says, more to himself than them.

“Yes, it was just a dream. Would you like to share?”

“No.” Aramis breathes. “It was just a dream.” He pulls his injured hand closer.

“Your hand okay,” d’Artagnan asks.

“Yeah. I must’ve pulled at it a bit somehow. It aches.”

“Do you want an ice pack for it,” Athos asks.

“Um… maybe. It might help.”

Athos goes to find an icepack in the freezer.

“You sure you don’t want to talk about your dream,” Porthos asks quietly.

“No, why,” Aramis asks. He’s resting his head on Porthos’ shoulder.

“You seem pretty shaken up over it.”

“It was just strange. Weird. I don’t really want to think about it. I just want to sleep again.”

“Okay. Are you comfortable like that?” Porthos pulls the blankets back up around Aramis.

Aramis nods. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Where’s it hurting on your hand,” Athos asks. He’s back with the ice pack and a kitchen towel.

“The fingers.”

“Near the cuts?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to be able to keep this on there? I can wrap it with some gauze.”

Aramis nods, holding his good hand out for the icepack. He takes it from Athos, situating it over the area that hurts, and settles back in against Porthos. Athos and Porthos exchange a quick glance, which doesn’t go unmissed by Aramis.

“I just pulled on it wrong. It’s nothing. Let’s go back to watching TV,” Aramis says.

Athos gives a light huff but doesn’t pursue the matter anymore. They go back to watching TV, all three sneaking glances at Aramis as the evening continues. Porthos takes the icepack after twenty minutes, setting it on the end table next to him. Aramis dozes but doesn’t let himself fully drop into a sleep.

Still, he’s slow to move when they head up to bed.

“Do you need help getting ready for bed,” Porthos asks while he waits for Aramis to wake enough to start moving.

“No, I’m good,” Aramis says and starts moving upstairs. Porthos stays close to steady him. The walk upstairs is slow, but they do get there eventually. Aramis makes to turn to his room, but Porthos stops him.

“Given that you’re not feeling good, why don’t you sleep with Athos tonight?” Porthos is careful to keep his voice light.

“I’m fine on my own and I’m sure Athos doesn’t want me in his bed.”

“It’s perfectly fine, Aramis,” Athos says. He’s already changed into pajama bottoms and has come out into the hall to help Porthos.

“For our peace of mind, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. After that, Aramis gives in. He hears Porthos’ concern and doesn’t feel like fighting them anymore.

“Okay. Just let me get changed and brush my teeth. Then, I’ll be in there.”

“Give us a yell if you need help.”

“I think I can handle getting ready for bed just fine.”

Athos and Porthos concede his point and go their own ways, though if Porthos just happens to be in the main bathroom brushing his teeth at the same time as Aramis is, neither man says anything. Aramis finishes brushing his teeth quickly and leaves. Porthos hears him walk down the hall towards Athos’ room. Perhaps having Aramis sleep there tonight is overkill, but given his lethargy and fever, not to mention the dream that disturbed him, they all will feel better if he’s not alone. And, he knows that Aramis prefers Athos to look after him when he’s sick.

In Athos’ bedroom, Aramis finds the older man sitting on the bed changing the batteries in the thermometer.

“Not again,” Aramis groans.

“It’s been a few hours since we last checked and you’ve admitted yourself that those cuts might be infected,” Athos says. “You know that this is important to check.”

“Yes, I know but I’m also not a child.”

“No one is saying you are. We’re merely concerned about your health.”

“Then why do I have to sleep in here tonight?”

“You don’t,” Athos says simply. “Would you prefer to sleep in your own room tonight?”

“Yes,” Aramis says. “And no,” he adds quietly, averting his gaze.

“Your dream?”

Aramis nods. “It shouldn’t bother me. It’s just a dream and I’m not a child.”

“You do understand that you don’t have to be a child to be afraid of your dreams, right?”

“Yes, I know that.”

They’re both quiet for a moment.

“Aramis, come sit down. Let me check your fever and tell me about your dream.” When Aramis hesitates, Athos reiterates the plea. “You’ll feel better for talking about it. You know it’s worked in the past and not just for you. How many times have I confided my dreams in you?”

Aramis sighs and walks over to join Athos on the bed. Athos doesn’t wait to check his temperature.

“A bit higher. 100.8,” Athos announces when the thermometer beeps.

“That’s not good.” Aramis sighs.

“No, but we’ll see how it progresses. It might turn out to be nothing. You know fevers get worse at night. Now, your dream?”

“Yes, my dream.” Aramis shifts back on the bed to lean against the headboard, grabbing a blanket he knows Athos put out for him. Athos never sleeps with an extra blanket unless it’s subzero temperatures as the man always runs warm. “I don’t even know why it’s so upsetting. It’s nothing like my usual dreams. It wasn’t Afghanistan. It wasn’t children. There wasn’t even any blood or anything.”

“’Mis.” Athos puts a hand on Aramis’ knees. “Calm down. What did you dream about?”

“My room.”

“And what about it?”

“Things were different. Moved, nothing major, just all slightly off.”

“Okay.”

“It was like someone had been in there.”

“Who?”

Aramis hesitates, deliberately not looking at Athos.

“’Mis? Who?”

“There wasn’t any proof, but it was… the stalker. I knew it and he’d been in there while I was there. Not in the room but in the house. I don’t know how he got in, but he’d been there, rummaging around, doing things.”

“First, you know that no one could get in. Between the cameras, locks, and alarms, this place is secure. It’s monitored by the best company.” When he first bought the house, he’d put in security, but he’d paid to have it improved when Aramis moved in, hoping that it would help ease some of his PTSD.

“Yes, I know. And no, I don’t really believe that anyone got in, but…” Aramis trails off, throwing his hands up lightly.

“The mind is a powerful weapon. Our enemies only need to plant a seed and our minds will let it grow.”

“Waxing poetic again?” Aramis gives a small smile.

Athos smiles. “You also know that we’ve looked for a stalker, we’re even continuing the search. Nothing has turned up.”

“So, you think it’s all in my head?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking. I think you’ve been tired, stressed. You’re battling depression as well as PTSD. Our minds play tricks on us. It’s easy to see something out of the corner of our eyes. See it one too many times, and we start to think it’s something that’s out to get us.”

“We? You mean me.”

Athos sighs. Trust Aramis to cut to the root of his attempts to comfort him. “We’ve all dealt with it at some point, but yes, you. You know as well all do that you will relapse. And if depression or PTSD wasn’t bad enough alone, you have both to combat. But you also know, and I hope that you still believe this, that we are with you. Yes, you’ve been on your own a lot these last couple weeks but don’t think that you’re out of our minds because you’re out of sight. Treville’s threatened to lock up our phones more times than I can count so that we’ll do our work instead of checking for messages from you. While d’Artagnan and I were out, I think he actually did take away Porthos’ phone.” Aramis chuckles at the image of Treville’s exasperation at their phone use.

Athos continues, “And I know that I’ve definitely had more than my normal moments of distraction. I’m sure the others have as well. We’re worried and there’s little we can do to help.”

Aramis takes a steadying breath, nodding his understanding. “I know and you three have been helping. I’m just tired of it. I did nothing but my job and the thanks I got was a lifetime of depression and PTSD. I know Lemay said not to focus on what I did to deserve this but it’s times like now when I can’t help but wonder.”

“I know, believe me on that one. I do understand that.” In the depths of his own depression, Athos often wondered what he did to deserve it. “But keep this in mind, sometimes we don’t get what we deserve. You definitely deserved more. A better commander, better friends, and compassion. And while we don’t get what we deserve, if we want to live, we have to make do with what we got.”

“I know and I’m trying.”

“That’s all I ask. Well, that and come to us when you need help.”

“Of course.”

“Are you ready for bed now?”

“I’ve been ready. It’s you that’s been waxing poetic all this time.” Aramis scrunches up closer to the headboard to pull the bedcovers out from under him. Meanwhile, Athos pulls back the covers on his side of the bed.

“I’ve not been waxing poetic.”

“How about waxing philosophical then?”

Athos grumbles lightly. “It’s the time of night.”

“It’s no later than normal for a workday.”

“Go to sleep, Aramis.” Athos turns off the lights, leaving the night light on Aramis’ side of the bed the only light in the room. Athos prefers the dark but he always keeps the night light on knowing Aramis’ uncomfortableness in absolute darkness.

“Good night, Athos.”

“Night, Aramis.”

“Athos,” Aramis says after a pause. Athos hums a response. “Thank you.”

“Never a problem, Aramis. Now, get some sleep. You might feel better in the morning.”

 


	13. Dreams and Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis' night is not as restful as he or Athos wants with his fever and dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own. And thanks to those still reading and those who've left comments or kudos. I appreciate the feedback.

When Athos wakes in the early morning to Aramis’ restless sleep, he’s not surprised. The younger man has managed to entangle his feet in the blankets, which were kicked off at some point, leaving him only partly covered. Athos hears the familiar muttering under his breath and sees his eyelids moving. Dreams, again, enhanced by the fever. Athos curses. It must’ve gone up more. He switches the lamp on and turns to deal with Aramis.

“’Mis, wake up.” Athos taps his hand in a familiar pattern. He doesn’t want to startle him. “Aramis,” he calls louder when Aramis doesn’t wake.

“’thos?” Aramis rolls his head over, eyes half open. “You have to get him. ‘t’s not my fault.”

“You’re dreaming, Aramis. Your fever’s gone up again and it’s giving you bad dreams.”

“No. It’s him. Help me, Athos. You said you would.”

“There’s no stalker, Aramis. Open your eyes.” Athos shakes Aramis’ shoulder, which finally rouses him enough to raise his head off the pillow only to flop back down with a groan.

“Well, you’re awake now,” Athos says. He reaches for the thermometer that he left on the nightstand.

“I wasn’t before?” Aramis turns his head to look at Athos.

“Not quite. Now move your head. I want to see how bad your fever’s gotten.”

“It can’t be that bad, it’s cold in here,” Aramis says as he moves his head for Athos. While the thermometer is working, he tries to untangle his feet and pull the blankets back up. It’s largely unsuccessful as he’s working one-handed and trying not to pull on his ribs, so when Athos is done, he reaches down to grab them and pull them over Aramis.

“Thanks,” Aramis mumbles, sinking down into the warmth of the blankets.

“You’re over 101 now. How’re you feeling overall?”

“Freezing, tired.”

“Your hand hurting?”

“What?” Aramis gives him a puzzled look.

“You haven’t moved your hand and now you’ve got it tucked against your chest.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t realized. “It’s achy and stiff. I can’t really move the fingers much with the splints, but they just feel tight.”

“What did it look like when you last changed the bandages?”

“A bit red. Like it was irritated. I told you that didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. I want to get look myself and see what’s going on. There’s something that’s not right.”

“No, Athos. I want to sleep. There’s nothing wrong.”

“Maybe not, but it shouldn’t be hurting more than a week afterward. That, combined with the fever and tiredness? Come on, get up. This won’t take longer than fifteen minutes.” Athos pushes himself to his feet, walking to the other side to get Aramis up.

“Can’t you just check it here,” Aramis pleads.

“The light is better in the bathroom. Now, up, please. I don’t want to have to wake Porthos or d’Artagnan to come in.”

Aramis gives another grumble but finally starts moving. Athos steps in to help as Aramis’ ribs make it difficult for him to get off the soft mattress.

“You can wrap up in this blanket.” Athos tosses a blanket around Aramis’ shoulders, pulling it around so he can grasp it in his good hand. Then he gently guides Aramis into the bathroom, over to sit on the toilet lid. Had his fever not been going steadily up and he had those moments of disorientation as well as the continued aches, Athos probably would’ve just told him to go back to sleep. But he’s concerned about what’s developing under the bandages. Unless it’s serious they’ll wait until he sees Frice but he wants to know now what’s hiding.

“Let me see your hand,” Athos says calmly. He grabs the med kit and kneels in front of Aramis, who’s more concerned with the cold and being tired. Still, he holds out his hand, sticking it out from the opening of the blanket.

Athos uses the scissors from the kit to do away with the bandages quickly. The outer bandage is easy but he’s careful with the ones wrapped around the fingers. He doesn’t want to cause more problems and the closer he gets, the more Aramis tries to pull away.

“Stop moving, Aramis.”

“It hurts,” he whines back quietly.

“I know but it’s going to be worse if I accidentally cut your hand because you’re moving it around. I’m trying to be gentle, but I do need to get this off.

Aramis stays still but still lets out small hisses as Athos works. Underneath the bandages, the wounds look red and irritated. Athos sees the puffiness that Aramis was complaining about.

“Aramis, how does this look compared to before?” It doesn’t look good to him, but he doesn’t know if this is much worse than before.

“Wha?” Aramis looks up.

“Your hand. How does it look compared to when you cleaned it earlier?”

“Um…” Aramis takes a moment to examine the now-exposed cuts. “The same? Maybe?”

“Aramis,” Athos sighs.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that was a while ago and I’m tired and nauseous and I really just want to lie down.”

“I know. Let me just get this wrapped back up. Then I’m going to get you some ibuprofen and juice and you can go back to sleep. Okay?”

Aramis nods, shifting to lean a shoulder and his head against the wall. He closes his eyes as Athos gently cleans and bandages his hand.

“Alright, back to bed.” Athos waits until Aramis opens his eyes and pushes off from the wall to step in and help Aramis to his feet. The younger man slowly trudges back, settling onto his side of the bed with a sigh. “Don’t go to sleep just yet. I’m going to get you some juice so the ibuprofen doesn’t upset your stomach even more.”

On his way back up, just before he turns to go into his bedroom, d’Artagnan’s door opens.

“Everything okay,” d’Artagnan asks.

“Mostly.” Athos tries to keep the surprise out of his voice. d’Artagnan is known to be a deep sleeper and if anyone was going to wake up, he thought it would’ve been Porthos.

“Mostly?”

“His fever’s higher and he’s nauseous.”

“Maybe he’s got a cold after all.”

“I hope so. His hand’s not looking good though.”

“So, what’s the plan,” d’Artagnan asks.

“Nothing yet. There’s really nothing that the ER could do for him that we can’t here.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Would you like to come in, d’Artagnan. I’m sure Aramis would be happy to see you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb him if he’s sleeping.”

“d’Artagnan, come on in. I need to get him his ibuprofen and could probably use the help in cajoling him into taking it and drinking this juice.” Athos doesn’t wait for a response, knowing that d’Artagnan will follow.

Back in his room, he finds Aramis dozing.

“He looks a bit pale,” d’Artagnan says quietly.

“That’s the fever and you don’t need to be quiet,” Athos says. “Aramis, are you awake?” Athos sits on the edge of the bed, the juice and pills on the nightstand as he tries to rouse Aramis. He shakes the younger man’s shoulder lightly, hoping that he’s not too deeply asleep.

“Hmm?” Aramis slowly opens his eyes, head rolling to look at Athos.

“You need to wake up a bit to take some medicine.”

“I’m fine, Athos. Just let me sleep. I just need sleep.”

“Yes, you need sleep, but some ibuprofen is going to help make you feel better. Let’s just sit you up a touch. d’Artagnan, I’m going to lift him up a little. Can you put some pillows under him?”

“Sure.” d’Artagnan quickly climbs onto the other side of the bed and puts the couple pillows under Aramis when Athos pulls him up. Aramis, for his part, moans at the movement, even though they are gentle and he can’t help the sigh of relief when Athos sets him back against the pillows. He’s glad when Athos doesn’t push right away to get him to take the ibuprofen. It takes him a few minutes to catch his breath and get the queasiness under control.

“Are you ready for the pills and juice,” Athos ask when Aramis looks up at him at last.

“What kind of juice?”

“Cran-grape. I know that’s your favorite.” He hands Aramis the pills, waiting until he’s put them in his mouth to hand him the juice glass. Aramis then takes the glass, but Athos keeps his hand close.

“Not going to drop it, Athos,” Aramis says between sips.

“Indulge me on this one since it’s late and I don’t feel like changing sheets. Nor do I expect you wish to be parted from this bed.”

Aramis doesn’t complain again as he continues to drink his juice slowly. He hands the glass back to Athos when he’s finished and waits as they remove the pillows to let him lay back down.

“How’re you feeling,” d’Artagnan asks.

“Same as before really. I’m going sleep if you two don’t mind.”

“No, get some sleep.” Athos smiles. Aramis closes his eyes, settling in to sleep.

“You going to stay in here, d’Artagnan,” Aramis asks.

“I should probably go back to my room,” d’Artagnan says. He doesn’t really want to go back. Now that he’s seen Aramis, he knows that there’s nothing seriously wrong, but he doesn’t want to have to go back to his room where he wasn’t really getting much sleep anyway. Unlike Athos and Porthos, he hasn’t seen Aramis through any really rough patches. He trusts that they’re right in believing that Aramis can pull himself through this, with their help. The compounding of things with the stalker, the breakup, everything it felt like to d’Artagnan made him wonder how the man would recover.

“You can take my side of the bed, d’Artagnan,” Athos says. He sees the contradiction and worry in the young man’s face. “I’m not going to be able to sleep anymore tonight, so you might as well take the bed.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Listen to him, d’Artagnan,” Aramis says. “Athos doesn’t offer things he doesn’t mean. Get some sleep. You’re already going to be dragging from lack of sleep. If you get a few hours we might avoid a cranky d’Artagnan.”

“I do not get cranky,” d’Artagnan retorts mildly. He hears the light jest in Aramis’ voice.

“Sleep, both of you. I don’t want either of you cranky,” Athos says.

“Yes, because one cranky person is enough, right, Athos,” d’Artagnan says not working to hide his smile.

“Would you like a cold, wet wake up this morning?”

“You wouldn’t. It’s your own bed you’d be getting wet.”

“Who said you’d be on my bed? I’m sure Porthos will help me.”

“Stop it, both of you,” Aramis says. They both startle at the command even though there’s no heat to it. “At least wait until I’m asleep.”

“Sorry, ‘Mis,” d’Artagnan says, settling in quickly to Athos’ side of the bed. There are a few groans from Aramis even though he tries to be careful.

“Are you hurting,” Athos asks quietly.

“Some but I really just don’t feel good,” Aramis says in the same low tone.

“What do you need?”

“Just quiet so I can sleep.”

“You want the lights on still?”

“Not all of them. Just what you need to read by.”

“I am content to sit here in the dark if that’s what you need.”

“One up here and then one on the other side?”

Athos nods. The set-up is familiar. Aramis wants to be able to see what’s around him. He trusts Athos to keep watch but that can’t calm all of his senses. Being able to see himself if there’s someone lurking on the other side of the room will help. Aramis won’t look but knowing that he could is enough to put him at ease.

Fortunately, there is just enough light for Athos to comfortably read by. He’s not one to discriminate in his reading but he is known to go on certain kicks and right now he’s been into dystopian works thanks to Porthos getting them to watch _The Handmaid’s Tale_ last spring.

As he reads, he’s sure to keep an eye on Aramis. He pulls the younger man out of dreams a few times, noticing with concern that each time is a little more difficult and Aramis is less aware.

Athos doesn’t know what time it happens, but the cry of fear Aramis gives is enough to not just startle him into nearly falling out of the chair and suddenly waking d’Artagnan, but to make Porthos come charging into the room and next to Aramis without a note that he’s coming in. There are more shouts, most of them lower but no less fear-filled.

They don’t hold him down, having learned that only makes his nightmare turn to panic and real violence. But as his cries grow quieter, the nightmare seems to intensify as his body starts twisting and his limbs start flailing lightly. Before it can get caught up in something to cause further injury, d’Artagnan grabs Aramis’ bandaged hand when it comes near and holds it lightly but firmly. Aramis struggles against the grip and shouts when he can’t get free.

That’s when Athos and Porthos fall back into their old habits from Aramis’ first year. They work together, speaking quietly to Aramis in reassuring tones. It takes far longer than they want and as they work to calm him they can’t help but feel the abnormal heat coming from him.

When Aramis does finally calm down, going both quiet and still save for his breathing, he slits his eyes open and looks up at them hazily.

“You back with us, ‘Mis,” Porthos asks, worry clear in his voice.

“Wha?” Aramis gives them a blank look. “Where?”

Athos holds back his panic when his stomach drops at that question and the confusion. Had he waited too long? Was Aramis delirious?

“Do you know where you are, Aramis,” Porthos asks, the only one of the capable of thinking clearly right now. He always has been their rock in these situations.

“Home. Athos’ room,” Aramis answers. He licks his lips. “What happen’d?”

“You’re sick, ‘Mis. You have a fever and it’s giving you some bad nightmares.”

“Fever? It’s him. He was… He was in my room.”

Porthos looks to Athos for an explanation. Athos freezes for a moment before shaking his head to clear his mind.

“His dreams have been about that stalker. He dreamt that he got into his room and moved things around.”

“Makes sense given everything. When’d you last check his fever?”

“Few hours ago, I think. It was 101.3. It has to be higher now. He feels too warm.”

“Did one of you want to check it or you okay with me?” d’Artagnan holds out the thermometer.

“You,” Aramis says looking lazily at d’Artagnan, who still has a light grip on his bandaged hand. d’Artagnan doesn’t hesitate in checking the man’s temperature knowing that Aramis’ command, however quiet it was, is enough for the other two.

“102.3.” d’Artagnan looks up at them after he reads off the temperature. Their reaction is immediate.

“I’ll go get him some clothes and get dressed,” Porthos says, nearly out of the room when he finishes.

“d’Artagnan, go get dressed quickly, then get Aramis’ travel bag,” Athos says as he moves to get dressed.

“Should I call for an ambulance,” d’Artagnan asks. He’s already moving to go to his room.

“No. An ambulance ride in his state is only going to make things worse. We’ll take him in ourselves. You may have to drive.”

d’Artagnan nods and leaves. He’s glad that if he does they won’t have to get in any heavy city traffic. Though he’s improved much over the past few years, driving in the city and any surrounding traffic makes him nervous. His small hometown of 2,000 may be near an interstate but they don’t have a lot of traffic. Still, he’d drive in whatever he had to get Aramis help. He knows the older man is clingy when ill and while his usual target is Athos, Porthos is never far from his reach. Not to mention, Porthos and Athos are the best at calming him.

After he’s dressed, he walks into Aramis’ room just as Porthos is leaving with clothes and Aramis’ favorite blanket in hand.

“See if you can find his wallet,” Porthos says. “It wasn’t where he normally leaves it, but I can’t wait to keep searching.” Porthos doesn’t wait for a reply, walking quickly back to Athos’ room. Inside Athos has Aramis sitting up though the ill man doesn’t look too pleased about it.

“Ev’rything’s fine, ‘thos. ’m fine. Cold. Le’ me sl’p.”

“You’re not fine, Aramis. You’re very sick and we need to find out what’s going on.” Athos is sitting next to him, giving him a shoulder to lean on as he huddles under a blanket. Porthos sets the clothes on the chair and starts putting socks on Aramis’ feet. It’s not a cold night, but with them not know what’s wrong, there’s no sense in letting him catch a chill.

“It’s th’m. I know ‘t.”

“No, you’re just sick.”

“Why don’t you b’lieve me, ‘thos?” Aramis sounds on the verge of despondent in his questioning.

“It was just a dream, ‘Mis.” Athos uses his free hand to turn Aramis’ face towards him, hoping that Aramis will see his honesty. “You were dreaming and you’re confused now. The fever is playing games with your mind. Once you get better, you’ll see it was just a dream.” Athos waits a few seconds before pushing Aramis off of him and helping Porthos to get a t-shirt and zip-up hoodie on him. Aramis helps little in the matter but doesn’t complain.

“Alright, ‘Mis. Let’s get you to your feet.” Porthos and Athos work to carefully get Aramis standing, waiting until he’s steady when he tilts forward. “Me and Athos are going to be right next to you helping you get down the stairs and to the car, okay?”

“’m fine,” Aramis says again even though his weak voice and unsteady stance belie that.

“We’ll see what the doctor at the ER says, ‘Mis,” Athos says. It takes nearly twice as long to get to the stairs as they wait for Aramis to take slow, sometimes barely steady steps. By then, d’Artagnan is finally exiting Aramis’ bedroom. The travel kit is slung over his shoulder. He takes the blanket from Porthos and gently slings it over one side of the duffel bag.

“Did you find his wallet,” Porthos asks, a couple steps down.

“It took a little looking but yeah.”

“What was wrong?” Athos glances around Aramis to look at Porthos.

“It wasn’t where he normally puts it. I couldn’t find it.”

“Strange,” Athos says absently.


	14. A Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Aramis is growing worse, the task now is to figure out what's wrong and keep away from doctors who lack compassion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for continuing to read and comment. I appreciate the feedback. We're getting to the first turning point here where tensions will start to increase between the team (they just have to get Aramis past the illness).
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

Their arrival in the ER is a flurry of activity. Aramis is quickly taken back and tended to at first by Abby, a nurse they’re familiar with. She takes his temperature, sets up an IV, and puts a pulse ox monitor on his finger. Through it all, Aramis is half awake, muttering at times about the stalker. Fortunately, Abby knows them well enough to bypass the usual ER rules that prohibit visitors, especially three visitors, during the initial intake, letting them all come back with Aramis.

While d’Artagnan’s set himself up at the foot of the bed, Porthos and Athos are standing on the side. During the ride, Aramis glommed onto Porthos and has yet to let his grip go, so Porthos is more sitting on the edge of the bed, hand firmly gripped by Aramis as he tries to keep the ill man calm. Athos runs a hand through Aramis’ hair, speaking calmly to him to try to keep him still enough for Abby to do her work.

“Other than the fever, what are his symptoms,” Abby asks.

“He’s been really tired,” Porthos says.

“He said his hand hurt,” Athos adds. “It’s red and a bit swollen. I gave him some ibuprofen to try to help with the pain and fever.”

“Okay.” Abby makes notes on her tablet. “Anything else?”

“What about dinner,” d’Artagnan mentions.

“Yeah. He ate but we could all see he didn’t really want to,” Porthos says. He knows that Aramis thought he’d hidden how little he actually ate and his lack of enthusiasm, but they’d been keeping a close eye on him.

“Nausea is likely then,” Abby says.

“He’s been disoriented too. It’s been rather difficult to wake him from nightmares today,” Athos says.

“I suspected the disorientation based on what he’s been going on about. How’re you feeling, Aramis,” she asks, making sure to catch his attention.

“’m fine. Why’m I ‘ere?” Aramis meets her gaze for a few seconds before drifting off to look at the others. “We can’t stay ‘ere. He’s back th’re. Not my fa’lt.”

“Calm down, ‘Mis,” Porthos says, gently rubbing circles on the back of Aramis’ hand. “The house is safe. It’s you that we’re worried about.”

“When will the doctor be here,” Athos asks. He tries to keep the briskness out of his voice, but he can’t help it. Whenever one of his brothers is ill or injured, he’s determined to get them the best care no matter what attitude he has to take. And more than anything right now, he wants Aramis to be seen by a doctor so they can find out what’s wrong.

“Stavel and Lanvick are on duty tonight. Lanvick just went on break and Stavel is finishing up with a patient, so she should be here soon.”

Abby leaves but comes back with Stavel. They know Stavel from some of their late night ER visits. She’s somewhat new but good and Aramis trusts her, which is helpful right now as Aramis is still rambling on.

“When did the fever start,” Stavel asks. Though she’s looking at Aramis, checking his vitals, her question isn’t directed at him. He might be able to answer but she doesn’t want to stress him out further. He’s calm right now thanks to his friends’ presence.

“Yesterday, I think,” Athos says, looking to the others for confirmation.

“It might be the night before but definitely yesterday when we started noticing it. He slept through his appointment with Dr. Frice for his hand,” Porthos answers with more confidence than Athos.

“Yes, I saw the report on his hand. Frice’s notes say that it’s healing well despite the severity of the cuts.” Stavel glances up.

“He was complaining that it hurt and was stiff earlier tonight,” Athos says.

“Any other aches or pains that he’s complained about?”

“Nothing that’s not already injured.”

Stavel is quiet as she continues her exam. “Let’s see what’s under these bandages.” She lifts the bandaged hand gently and cuts through the bandages. As the cuts are slowly revealed, the others try unsuccessfully not to move in closer to look. Stavel examines them closely. Aramis hisses and tries to pull his hand back, but the others try to reassure him that it’s okay.

“Abby, I want you to take samples from each of the cuts and send them down to the lab. Then get him started on an antibiotic. Start him on penicillin for now. Once we know what we’re dealing with we’ll adjust.” Stavel jots down the notes on the tablet.

“They’re infected,” Athos asks. He can feel the guilt growing already. He should’ve checked the wounds closer when he had the chance.

“Yes, but we’re at the start of it, which is good. You can see that there’s some oozing, which means that these need to be opened and cleaned out.” She looks to Abby, who nods, understanding that that’s been added to the list of tasks. “The redness and swollenness as well as the fever all point to an infection. It can be hard to detect though, especially right now when it easily looks like a cold. Right now, we need to find out more about the infection, then we can treat it better and hopefully catch it before it gets worse.”

“But he’s here. You’re giving him medicine,” d’Artagnan says. “He shouldn’t get worse.”

“Many bacteria are now resistant to penicillin,” Stavel says with no hint of condescending in her voice. “Right now, it’s a stop gap that might fight off the infection. With the wounds cleaned out, though, that will make a big difference and might be enough to help for now. We’ll do what we can, but infections can be difficult to fight off.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t doubting you, but…”

“You’re worried. I understand. He’s in good hands here. You three worry about keeping him calm and feeling safe and we’ll see about the infection.” She gives the three of them an encouraging smile before turning to Abby. “Let me know if there are any changes, otherwise I’ll be back in an hour to check on him.”

The remainder of their night passes slowly. Abby takes care of Aramis’ wounds. The painkiller she gives him before cleaning the cuts along with the fever knocks him out for much of the morning. They take turns in walking around to stretch their legs and getting snacks and drinks from the vending machines. Though they don’t expect him to wake, Aramis is never left alone.

Towards dawn, Aramis grows restless again as the fever continues to rise.

“Any word on the infection,” Porthos asks Abby when she comes in to check on Aramis.

“Nothing so far. I called down just before I came in.” She’s recording his vitals and sending them to Stavel. The fever is higher than before and Abby’s hoping that Stavel can prescribe something than penicillin, which is doing nothing to counteract the infection.

“And the fever?” Porthos is sitting beside the bed with the others working to keep Aramis calm.

“Dr. Stavel knows or will. She’s getting an update now. We’ll have to wait to hear from her.” She feels terrible as she tells them they have to wait. She sees their barely hidden frustration and the worry that they can’t hide. “I’ll go find her and see if there’s anything more that can be done.”

Porthos nods his thanks and she leaves.

“We should let Treville and Sarah know what’s going on,” Porthos says quietly but his voice still rumbles loudly in the silence of their curtained off area. d’Artagnan and Athos look up, both are worn from the night, neither having gotten much sleep before coming to the ER. They’ve both steadfastly remained awake, but it hasn’t been easy.

“I’ll go call him.” Athos stands with a poorly held groan. He’s been sitting there for far too long.

“Tell him we’re taking a personal day,” Porthos says as Athos fishes his phone out, walking to the curtains. “You okay with that, d’Artagnan?”

“Yeah. Of course.” There’s no hesitation in his voice.

“I think we all have some time left,” Athos says as he walks out, seeing Porthos and d’Artagnan shift seats so they are each closer to Aramis. He’d had the seat by his head, not from any deference on the part of the others, but he’d always been better at calming Aramis. He doesn’t like leaving Aramis but he’s in good hands with Porthos and d’Artagnan. Once he’s outside the ER doors, off to the side so he’s not in the way of anyone, he calls Treville.

“Athos, a call this early can’t be any good,” Treville says in lieu of a greeting.

“No, it’s not. I think we’ll be taking a personal day. I doubt any of us are going to be willing to leave him right now.”

“The fever?”

“Yes. It kept rising and he was growing delirious. We had no choice but to bring him in. He’s not really been with it much over the last several hours.”

“Is it the cuts?” Sarah had told him about the redness she’d seen and Aramis’ own worries.

“We’re waiting on lab results, but that’s what they’re thinking. Seems it’s just a matter of what type of infection before they give him a better antibiotic.”

“Okay.” Treville sighs. He’s just woken up but after a night of worried sleep, he doesn’t feel refreshed or ready for another day of worrying about Aramis. “I’ll file the paperwork. Once we get the kids off to school, Sarah and I will come by. I can’t stay for long, but Sarah will be there to help. Do you want me to call Constance?”

“No, let her have her vacation. Aramis will be angry with us if we pull her from her days off after such a hard summer.”

“She’ll come though and put him in his place, if need be, once he’s well.”

“A last resort, Captain.”

“Okay,” Treville says with a light chuckle. Athos hears someone talking in the background on Treville’s end. It must be Sarah. Then, “Sarah says we’ll bring some breakfast for you all. Anything in particular?”

“I doubt any of us feel like eating right now. I know I don’t.”

“Athos,” Sarah begins, having apparently taken the phone from Treville, “you three need to eat so you can continue to look after Aramis. I know that it’s tiring work. Now, rather than what you want, is there anything you don’t want?”

“No, whatever you bring is fine.” Athos feels warmed by her words and concern. She’s going to be a great social worker.

“Athos!” Athos recognizes d’Artagnan’s panicked voice and turns to see the young man walking quickly towards him. “They’re admitting him. He’s going upstairs.”

“What happened?” Athos ignores the worried voices on the other end of the phone. “Did the results come back?”

“No, but when Abby tried to rouse him, we couldn’t get him to wake fully. Stavel came to check on him and she’s worried about his lack of awareness and the fever. Porthos is going with him. I told him I’d come get you. Aramis is panicking.”

“Sarah.” Athos turns his attention back to the phone.

“Go, Athos,” Sarah cuts him off. “We’ll be there in a couple hours but keep us updated the best you can.”

“Of course.” Athos ends the call and follows d’Artagnan back in.

“I’m sorry to cut your call short. It’s just that Porthos is having a hard time getting him to stay calm so he doesn’t hurt himself and he’s not making any sense. And they’re wanting to give him a sedative which got Porthos mad and that didn’t help Aramis any and he was calling out for you two…”

“d’Artagnan, take a breath.” Athos stops him and puts a hand on his shoulder to turn him towards him.

“But…”

“We’ll get things sorted but getting anxious about it isn’t going to help. It’s only going to make Aramis more agitated as well as Porthos.”

“Okay,” d’Artagnan says, this time taking a deliberate breath.

“Are you good to go now?” Athos sees that he’s calmer now and forcing himself to remain that way. It’s not their first family emergency but d’Artagnan is easily excited in these situations, especially when there’s still a lot of unknowns.

d’Artagnan nods. “Yeah.”

“Good. Now, do you know what room they were taking him to?”

“No. They never said.” d’Artagnan forces himself not to get anxious again.

“The floor?”

“Fourth, I think.”

“Let’s go check with the nurses up there then. If nothing else, they might be able to track them down for us.”

It turns out that they don’t need to ask at the nurses’ station about Aramis. When they approach the station, they hear Porthos’ unmistakable voice. At the anger in the voice, they run to the room where they find a couple nurses holding Aramis down as he struggles against their grips, muttering still about the stalker. Porthos is standing protectively in front of him, arguing with a male doctor Athos and d’Artagnan don’t remember seeing before.

“Don’t come anywhere near him,” Porthos shouts. He hasn’t yet recognized their arrival.

“What’s going on,” Athos asks quickly before the doctor has a chance to speak.

“It’s none of your business. Now, go.” The doctor gestures for them to leave. “You will stand aside,” he says, turning back to Porthos, “or I will call security to have them escort you off hospital premises.”

“Hold on.” Athos works to keep his voice steady but firm, drawing on his Musketeer side to draw the doctor’s attention. “These men are our friends. What is going on here?”

“Your friend is preventing your other friend’s treatment,” the doctor hisses.

“And what kind of treatment requires that he be held down,” d’Artagnan asks. “Your treatment is only serving to further agitate him.”

“He was agitated when he arrived and when we tried to check his vitals, he became more agitated.”

“You gave him no warning before shoving your cold stethoscope down his gown,” Porthos roars. “How did you think he was going to react?”

“He should’ve been sedated before he even arrived.”

“Have you even looked at his file,” Athos asks. “He doesn’t react well to sedation. He has flashbacks caused by PTSD. Sedation in the past has left him stuck in those flashbacks.”

“Then perhaps he needs to be at a VA hospital rather than here where they can treat people like him.”

There’s the briefest of pauses but it is tense.

“Get away from him, all of you,” Athos says, his tone dangerously low. The room goes silent as his voice attracts everyone’s attention. Even Aramis settles some. Porthos and d’Artagnan have heard this voice before. It doesn’t come often but the ramifications are wide-reaching. “Now,” he barks and the nurses let go of Aramis. “Now, get out.”

“You can’t order me out.” The doctor takes a step forward, a slight swagger in his walk. “This man needs treatment and I’m his doctor.”

“I agree, he needs treatment but not from you,” Athos says. “Never from you. Now, go and if I find you back in here or interfering with his treatment, I’ll have a word with your superiors.”

“What is going on here?” They all quickly recognize the voice as Dr. Frice’s.

“I am trying to treat my patient, but these men are interfering,” the doctor says.

“He thinks sedating him will solve the problem when he’s done more to agitate him,” Porthos says. He’s relieved to see Frice. The man’s always done well in handling Aramis.

“Dr. Margel, have you looked at Mr. d’Herblay’s records,” Frice asks, walking up to meet the younger doctor.

“I got the notes send up from Stavel.”

“Did you look at his records?” Frice is careful to keep Margel’s attention.

“He’s in critical condition. There hasn’t been time.”

“Not quite critical from what I’ve read and been told. And if he were critical, then it is all the more important that you read his file. Go take care of your paperwork. I’ll speak with you after I’m done here.”

“But…”

“Don’t make me say it one more time. You two can go as well,” Frice says to the nurses. They wordlessly follow Margel out.

“Thank you for coming,” d’Artagnan says.

“I’m glad you texted me. Doctors like Margel give us a bad name. Hopefully, with some more training, he’ll develop a little better bedside manner.”

“But not compassion,” Porthos says, anger still in his voice.

“I’d like to think that can be taught but we’ll see. Now, let’s see to Aramis. Dr. Stavel told me he’s had a rough night.” Frice walks to the other side of the bed, doing a visual examination of Aramis. He’s quiet but his eyes are darting around and his breathing is quickened. Frice suspects that he may not quite be with them.

“He’s been feverish and on the verge of delirious much of the night.” Porthos is calmer now, moving to see to Aramis, who has the clear signs of being on the verge of a panic attack. He lets out a curse for not seeing it.

“Calm yourself, Porthos,” Athos says, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You couldn’t know when you were in the midst of protecting him that this would happen. Right now, let’s focus on getting him to calm back down so Frice can do his job.”

Porthos breathes out, nodding his head.

“Hey, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. “You with us?”

Aramis looks at Porthos but doesn’t seem to see him there.

“Alright then,” Athos says. “Let’s start with the basics. You’re safe. You’re at the hospital. We’re here with you. We won’t let anyone do anything to you, you don’t want. You can trust us. Okay?”

Aramis nods slightly, licking his lips.

“Good,” Porthos says. “Now, let’s start with what you can see. What’s in front of your eyes, Aramis?”

“Th…th’ ceil’g.” Aramis’ voice cracks. d’Artagnan hands Porthos some water for Aramis to drink.

“Describe it for me,” Porthos says once Aramis has had a few sips.

“It’s speckled. Panels with metal bars running like a grid. And bright lights that hurt.” Frice turns down the lights a touch hoping it will help the headache that Aramis must have. “So many dots. I always want to count them but there’s so many.”

“You back with us now,” Porthos asks.

“Think so. Everything feels weird.” Aramis’ voice is weak.

“You’re pretty sick, Aramis,” Frice says.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Porthos says. “You okay with Frice giving you an exam? I think he’s looking to check your vitals and stuff.”

Aramis looks warily at Frice, seeing more the white jacket than the trusting doctor.

“I’ll let you know everything I’m going to do,” Frice says, seeing the look of panic build. “If you’re truly uncomfortable with something, tell me. But, I do need to check things out, see what’s going on. Do you trust me?”

Aramis seems to hesitate, then nods. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Good. Now, I’m first going to check your temperature.”


	15. No Me in We

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Aramis deals with the infection, decisions are made on how to deal with the aftermath. Will they take Aramis' feelings into account?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should put a bit of a warning here, which will apply to future chapters as well because this is something that will continue. Mental illness is a major aspect of this story and while the characters are usually understanding of Aramis' mental illnesses, times are coming in this story when assumptions are made. His friends are having to take sides because they care about him and it means that sometimes they will do or say things that are hurtful to him. 
> 
> From experience, I know that people can be rather insensitive when it comes to mental illnesses and seeing this happen in here might be unpleasant for some to read. So, I want to put this here as a warning (I'll tag it as well) so no one is caught off guard. Everything Aramis is going through, though, is with reason as mean as it might seem at times. 
> 
> I hope you all are still enjoying this story. It's getting into the part of the plot that I've been looking forward to writing (emotional whump is my thing, apparently). 
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. As always, any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

The exam takes longer than normal but Aramis stays calm throughout. When Frice leaves him, he’s drifting off to sleep, the fever taking its toll on him. The others have taken up positions around him to let him know that they’re there. Treville and Sarah arrive about an hour later, breakfast in hand. They send the three of them out to eat, sitting to look after Aramis as he sleeps.

“He looks more peaceful,” Sarah comments. Despite the fever, Aramis does look less distressed in his sleep. The irritation and sadness have lifted from his features as his body succumbed to the sleep it needed despite the continued fever.

“I’m glad that he’s sleeping. From what the others said, he’s had a stressful morning. I’m thankful that d’Artagnan has Aramis’ phone and thought to text Frice for help,” Treville says.

“Have you had luck in finding his stalker,” Sarah asks after a pause.

Treville sighs, tugging lightly against his shirt sleeve. “No. I’ve looked into everything. I’ve sent out notices. I know the others have looked, too. There’s nothing.” It’s been a series of disappointing weeks with the search, each avenue turning up nothing and the reality of the situation becoming all the clearer to him. Privately, Lemay had told him that while Aramis was recovered and would have small bouts with his illnesses, a major relapse was not out of the question. They would have to be on guard during major life changes, events that had the potential of having an impact on his well-being. By all rights, the breakup with Anne qualified.

“So, what does this mean?” Sarah knows the same as her husband what the lack of an external cause meant. But how this affects Aramis in the aftermath of the last few months, that remains to be seen.

“Administrative leave, I’m afraid.”

“You can’t. He didn’t like it before. It nearly did him in.”

“I remember the last time but there aren’t many options. This will at least keep his job without alerting Richelieu. I can’t let him know that Aramis is having more troubles. He put up enough of a fight when I was hiring Aramis and the months that followed.” Treville hadn’t told Aramis of the fuss Richelieu put up or the sacrifices Treville had to make to get Aramis on the force and keep him there.

“He can stay with us during the day again.”

“Of course,” Treville says easily. It was never a question in his mind that Aramis would stay with them during the day. “The difficult part is convincing him that it’s for the best.”

“What’s for the best,” d’Artagnan asks as he and the other two walk back into the room.

“I thought I sent the three of you to eat.”

“We did,” Porthos says as they settle around the bed.

“I meant actually sit down and take your time.”

“We tried to do that, but our minds were up here,” Athos says. “Now, what is he not going to like?”

“Administrative leave,” Treville says.

“He won’t like it,” Porthos says.

“I know, but there aren’t many options left. He needs time to heal physically and mentally. He’ll get that on leave.”

“Will he,” Athos questions.

“He can stay at our place during the day,” Sarah says.

There’s a moment of silence until d’Artagnan speaks. “What about him finding a psychologist?”

The others glance around at each other and at Aramis.

“You can’t deny that he needs some help for his depression,” d’Artagnan says.

“No one’s denying that but finding one he likes and will actually talk to is difficult. We went through several back when he first came to us before finding Lemay and that was more of a happenstance than anything else,” Porthos says.

“What about Athos’ psychiatrist?”

“He doesn’t treat PTSD in veterans,” Athos says. “I talked with him about it and he said he doesn’t know enough about treating veterans with PTSD to help Aramis. He could with everything else, but, as is common, all of the issues are tied together. Part of the difficulty in finding someone for him is as Porthos says, but it’s also the particular combination of illnesses.”

“Still…”

“Yes, we need to start looking. He needs to start looking.”

No further plans are made after this and nothing much is said. Treville stays longer than he planned to, hoping to hear word from Frice about the infection, but when nothing comes by almost ten, he leaves with a promise that they others will keep him up to date. Sarah manages to convince the others to go home to get cleaned up while she sits with Aramis. It’s then that Frice arrives.

“I see you convinced the others to step out for a bit,” he comments as he greets Sarah.

“It wasn’t easy, but I did finally manage to get them to go home. Any word on Aramis’ labs?”

“Yes, finally. I’ve already put in new orders for an antibiotic that will treat the infection. I have the first dose here, actually.” Frice holds out a syringe. He moves to check Aramis’ vitals, noting the numbers on the electronic chart.

“And this will work?”

“It’ll take some time as we’re fighting an uphill battle here, as we are with any infection. It’s not the worst though and he’s strong, so he should pull through it easily. He is likely to grow worse today still, though.”

“They said he’s been mostly out of it for the past several hours.”

“It’s the fever and exhaustion. Even when I examined him early this morning he was just with us and it didn’t last long. I don’t expect that he’ll be fully alert until tomorrow or later, definitely not until his fever breaks.”

“But he will get better?”

“Yes,” Frice reiterates without annoyance.

Sarah is silent for a moment. “I just don’t understand how this happened. He’s been so careful. The bandages are changed daily and anytime they get wet. He’s been trying really hard. He just wants to get back to normal.”

“I believe that he does, but I know that he’s also been depressed and tired. It’s possible that it didn’t get cleaned well enough once or that the bandages were contaminated somehow.”

“His brothers helped him a lot though. He tried on his own but found wrapping the bandages tightly with one hand was too difficult.”

“How it happened, I don’t know.” Frice gives a light shoulder shrug. “But it did. Aramis might have some clue. What’s important now is that we get it treated and get him healthy again.” Frice cleans the IV port with an alcohol swab and injects the antibiotic.

Sarah’s time with Aramis is spent alternatively sitting in a nearby chair and sitting on the edge of the bed to calm him from a fever-induced nightmare. She’s hesitant to leave by the time Porthos and the others come back but Meg will soon be at the bus stop waiting for her. She updates them on the latest with Aramis and tells them her or Jean will be by tonight to give them a break.

For the three of them, the afternoon passes as the last couple hours did for Sarah. They alternate in calming Aramis from nightmares. d’Artagnan, though he’s been a part of the group for a couple years now, finds the task of keeping Aramis calm daunting. As much as he wants to be there for Aramis, he finds himself volunteering to go get water, coffee, and snacks.

In his absence, Athos and Porthos share a knowing look.

“You going to talk with him or do you want me to,” Porthos asks.

“I’ll catch on his way back with the coffee to replace the coffee we haven’t finished yet.” Athos stands, sets his coffee aside, and gives a sleeping Aramis a comforting pat on his shoulder before going to track down their youngest. d’Artagnan has matured a lot over the last couple years. He still has his impulsive moments, but they are far and few between letting them so easily forget that he was just twenty-five, nearly a decade younger than them all. All of this is new and scary to the young man, Athos realizes as he traces the familiar path to the cafeteria.

Athos finds d’Artagnan walking back slowly, a cup of coffee in each hand.

“Did something happen?” d’Artagnan nearly drops the coffee cups. It’s only in part Athos’ quick movements and steady hands that rescue them.

“Aramis is the same. It’s you I came to find,” Athos says, taking one of the coffee cups.

“Me?”

“It hasn’t escaped our notice that you’ve gone on a lot of errands this afternoon.”

“It’s not… I don’t mean… It’s just…”

“Peace, d’Artagnan. We are concerned about you. How you’re handling this. Porthos and I are accustomed to Aramis’ illnesses and his nightmares, but we realize that much of this is new to you.”

“Oh.” d’Artagnan pauses before speaking again. “It’s not that I don’t want to be there, but what am I supposed to do? His nightmares are so terrible and I don’t know the languages he speaks in half the time.”

“Neither do we. Treville understands him better but it’s not about knowing what he’s saying. It’s letting him feel our presence and know that we are with him.”

“Surely you and Porthos are enough for that. You have known him longer.”

“You and I know that not to be the truth and besides it was him that constantly fought for you. When we all had our doubts, he argued that you should be given your chance to prove yourself.” Athos pauses. “You may not feel like you know what to do to help him. To be honest, we didn’t much in the beginning and we’re still lost at times, but being there, that’s enough for now.”

d’Artagnan nods.

“You ready to come back now and stay put for a bit?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, ‘cause I’ve just about had my fill of coffee and Porthos is looking for a new poker player. I’m terrible at it apparently.”

When Friday comes, and Aramis has yet to fully wake, they are forced to return to work. They arrange to stay with him in shifts. This means that d’Artagnan is there when Aramis’ fever breaks and starts to wake. He moves to Aramis’ side, leaning against the edge of the bed, the moment he sees the older man struggling to open his eyes.

“Hey, Aramis.” d’Artagnan tries hard not to be nervous. He remembers the steady mantra Porthos and Athos have. “You’re safe. You’re at the hospital.”

Aramis’ eyes open and look lazily around, then follow his voice to look at him.

“Wha…” Aramis’ voice is scratchy. d’Artagnan helps him take a few sips of water, directing the straw to Aramis’ mouth. Sleep, weakness, and the lingering fever make him disoriented.

“You’re safe here, Aramis,” d’Artagnan says again when he sees the confused look in his eyes. “The others will be here soon, but you should try to get some more sleep. You’re still sick.”

“d’Art?”

“Go to sleep, Aramis.” d’Artagnan rests a hand on Aramis’ chest to calm him. “Things will make more sense when you wake again.”

Aramis’ eyes blink closed then he startles awake but with no more recognition.

“I’ll be here keeping watch,” d’Artagnan adds. He takes Aramis’ good hand in his own and starts rubbing it gently as he’s seen Porthos do. The action has a near-immediate effect on Aramis as the man’s eyes slide closed and he soon drifts off into a deep sleep.

d’Artagnan stays sitting on the edge of the bed until he is sure that Aramis is asleep. When he moves back to the chair, he pulls it closer and goes back to texting with his youngest sister, Molly. Her middle school’s fall dance is coming up and she wants to ask her crush out but isn’t sure how to go about it or if she should. d’Artagnan isn’t sure how he became the go-to for romantic advice, especially considering he hasn’t dated since he was in high school, but he won’t leave his little sister hanging.

 The others arrive a few hours later with Treville and dinner. Porthos takes his place while he joins the others in the cafeteria to eat.

Porthos is just sitting down when he hears a change in Aramis’ breathing, signaling his slow return to wakefulness. He sits on the edge of the bed as d’Artagnan did earlier, rubbing Aramis’ free hand gently to reassure the man as he woke. Porthos knows that the calmer they can keep Aramis, the better. He speaks quietly to Aramis as he rouses, letting him know where he is and that he’s safe.

“’ortho’?” Aramis’ voice is groggy with sleep and dry. Porthos helps him take a few sips of water.

“How are you feeling,” Porthos asks.

“Tired. So tired.” Porthos isn’t surprised. He can hear the exhaustion in Aramis’ voice.

“It’s good to see you awake, though.”

Aramis looks around lazily, eyes moving more than his head.

“What happened,” he finally asks, looking at Porthos.

“These cuts got infected.” Porthos gently lifts Aramis’ wounded hand an inch. It’s only lightly bandaged so the nurses have easier access to it for cleaning and checking for infection.

“Infected? How?”

“That’s the mystery to us as well. But the important thing is that you’ve beaten it. Your fever’s better. It’s still there, but much more manageable and your last bloodwork looked good, according to the text d’Artagnan sent.”

“How long?” Aramis has the distinct sense that he’s missing some time. It’s not the first time he’s had this feeling and it’s become more familiar than he likes.

“Yesterday morning really. You were somewhat alert when we brought you in, but I don’t think you quite understood what was happening with your fever spiking. Had us all worried.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. We know you’ve been working hard to keep those cuts clean and get back to work.”

Aramis curses lightly. His frustration and anger help to rouse him. “I’m never getting back, am I?”

Porthos hesitates. He doesn’t want to have this conversation when Aramis is so close to recovering still.

“Tell me, Porthos. We’ve always been honest, remember?”

“Honestly? I don’t know what the plans are. Nothing’s been set in stone, but Athos and the Captain have been talking.”

Aramis sighs angrily.

“We’re worried about you, ‘Mis. This last one, it was bad, not as bad as it could have been, but it didn’t have to happen.”

“So, you think this is my fault?”

“No, but you are tired and depressed. You might not’ve been paying close attention in taking care of it once.”

“It wasn’t me, Porthos. Someone did this.”

“Who? Who would have done this,” Porthos asks.

Aramis feels the anger deflate at the question. “I don’t know.”

“Look, it might be someone, but it also might be depression. Either way, won’t taking some time off be a good thing?”

Aramis doesn’t have time to answer because it’s then that they are joined by Frice and the others.

“You sound much better, Aramis,” Frice says, moving to the empty side of the bed to start taking down the man’s vitals again.

“I was feeling better,” Aramis grumbles. Frice looks up at Porthos, who shakes his head.

“We’ll talk about it later, ‘Mis. Let Frice do a quick exam, see how you’re doing,” Porthos says, rising from the bed.

“Not sure that there’s a me in that we.”

Frice clears his throat lightly to draw attention back to the matter at hand. He’s reasonably sure what has irritated Aramis and he wishes that it hadn’t been brought up tonight. “How are you feeling, Aramis?”

“Tired. Drained.” The anger that gave him a jolt of energy is gone letting the exhaustion be known again.

“That’s not surprising. You’ve been fighting off an infection the last couple days. The good news is that the infection is almost gone as is the fever.”

“So, when can I get out of here?”

“Not tonight or tomorrow. I want to see the infection cleared up for at least 24 hours before I’ll consider it. This could’ve been worse, Aramis,” Frice says seeing the man getting frustrated. “As much as you don’t want to be in here, you need to be or you might’ve lost your hand and that would’ve been worse.”

“So, I’m supposed to be happy about it?”

“Grateful that your friends brought you in and that we were able to get it under control. Infections are notoriously difficult and dangerous and even more so today. They’re nothing to trifle with.”

“Okay.” Aramis doesn’t feel like fighting anymore. He knows he’s lucky, but he can’t help his frustration at his situation. Right now, though, he’s tired. He can feel the

lingering fever, and probably the infection, sapping at his strength and now he wants nothing more than to sleep and forget his current predicament.

Frice doesn’t expect the easy answer but then he sees the exhaustion on Aramis’ face.

“Everything looks good. A nurse will be by later to do another wound check and draw blood to check the infection. For now, get some sleep. In a few hours, you should think about trying to eat something light. You can let the nurse get you something or have your friends take care of it. I know they’re planning on spending the night again.”

“Okay.” Aramis nods.

“Get some rest, Aramis. Things may look better with more rest.” Frice pats his shoulder gently before leaving him to rest. The others settle in awkwardly as Aramis drifts off to sleep.


	16. Strike Number One?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis is released from the hospital, but are his ties with his brothers broken? Is his faith in himself gone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might, in the next month, be a slight delay in chapters. I have been struggling to write lately and this story has taken the brunt of that. It'll still be completed, but the chapters are harder to write. Hopefully, with better weather and a summer free of grading, I'll find some new inspiration.
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading.

When Aramis wakes the next day, the irritation is still there but he puts it aside when he sees Sarah and Treville enter with the kids. Treville quietly encourages Porthos, Athos, and d’Artagnan to go home for the day to shower and rest. Exhaustion still weighs down on him, but he forces himself to stay awake for a part of the morning if nothing else to listen as Meg, Ben, and Tim regale him with their kitchen adventures and school happenings.

“And we wanted to make you some cookies. Chocolate crackles, but mom said you wouldn’t be able to eat them,” Meg says.

“She’s right, but I’ll take them later when I’m out of here,” Aramis says. He managed some applesauce and toast this morning, but it had been a struggle.

“Tell him why else you weren’t allowed to make the cookies, Meg,” Sarah says, a slight warning tone in her voice.

“It was an accident,” Meg says.

“What happened,” Aramis asks, concern shaking off the dregs of sleepiness.

“We tried making dinner for mom and dad Thursday night to help out and it exploded in the kitchen,” Ben says.

“It wasn’t the mess I was upset about, was it,” Sarah asks.

“We nearly set the kitchen on fire,” Tim says.

“What were you doing? We’ve taught you about kitchen safety,” Aramis says.

“We were making fried chicken and French fries. The oil spilled over and a towel caught fire. I stuck it in the sink under cold water right away though.”

“We’ve never tried anything like that in the kitchen. What were you three thinking? Hot oil is far too dangerous for you to work with unsupervised.”

“We just were trying to help. With you sick and mom and dad both busy, we thought making dinner would help. We did it before,” Meg says. She doesn’t look up at them, instead tracing lines on the sheets on the bed where she sits.

“Please don’t try anything so dangerous again. Not without your parents or one of us supervising. All three of you could’ve been seriously hurt.”

“Yeah, mom and dad gave us that talk already,” Ben says.

“And they’re right. When I’m better and you’re allowed back in the kitchen, we’ll work on the fried chicken though. If you want to learn to cook with oil, you need lessons. If your parents are okay with it, of course.”

“It’s fine with us, Aramis,” Treville says, happy to see the younger man in better spirits today. Despite it, though, he sees that Aramis is tiring. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep, Aramis. Meg, Ben, Tim, let’s go down to the cafeteria and see what they have for lunch. Do you mind staying here, Sarah?”

“No, go ahead. Bring me back a sandwich if they have something good,” she says.

“No guarantees, but I’ll see what I can do. Let’s go, kids.”

Once Treville and the kids are gone, Aramis tries to settle down into sleeping but it’s little good. Though he’s tired, his mind can’t settle.

“What’s wrong, Aramis,” Sarah asks. She sees him shifting, trying with injured ribs and an injured hand to find some position that’s comfortable, though she doubts that either of those is the reason for his inability to sleep.

“I don’t know,” Aramis says tiredly, staring up at the ceiling. “I want out of here,” he adds after a moment.

“Frice did say that tomorrow or Monday were looking good for a release date. Your fever is nearly gone as is the infection.”

“I know but I’m tired of hospitals and doctors and being injured. I was doing so good with it for the last few years and now it seems like it’s become my second home again.”

“As much as that seems like the case from your point of view, it hardly seems true from mine,” Sarah says. “This really is the first long hospital stay for a while and it’s not really as long as you’ve had before.”

“Logically, I know that but with everything that’s been going on and no one believing me about the stalker it all feels like a big step back.”

“Surely, that’s not the case. I know Jean’s been looking and I’m sure the others have as well.”

“Yes, they’ve looked and found nothing. I’ve found nothing either, but I know what I saw. What I’ve been seeing. But instead, they’re just taking me off duty and making me a babysitter.”

Sarah pauses at the bitterness in his tone and his choice of words. She knows that it’s more his frustration and tiredness coloring his words and she can imagine that for a man accustomed to action and duty, being sidelined and tasked with looking after children, no matter how much he loved them, wasn’t easy.

“Sorry, Sarah,” Aramis says when he sees Sarah’s hesitation and quickly realizes what he’s said. “Perhaps they are right. I am merely depressed and seeing things. Please forgive my words and tone. My anger is not at you or the kids. I would be happy to look after them.”

“Aramis,” Sarah begins, putting a halt to his rambling, “it’s fine. I know that you’re angry and frustrated. I don’t appreciate taking the brunt of it, but I know that it wasn’t intentional. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? Jean will only be able to keep the kids distracted and quiet for so long.”

Aramis nods, settling in to try to sleep.

“And Aramis, the kids would be glad to have you look after them while you’re off, if you want to.”

Aramis continues to improve over the weekend. The fever and infection clear up completely and by Monday Frice agrees to release him. Treville allows Porthos, Athos, and d’Artagnan to leave work early to go pick him up and take him back home. He’d convinced them that morning to leave him for the day, knowing that none of them could afford to take much more time off.

Walking in the house, he’s tired from the movement and lingering effects of the infection, but he’s glad to be back home. They’d stopped by one of their favorite take-out places on the way back to pick up dinner. Aramis tries to help set the table but gets shooed aside and re-directed to sit at the island while the others get things set. When he looked back on the events of this night, being told to sit was probably the beginning of the anger that he ended the night with.

Still, he kept it in check, knowing that they were just worried about him after his latest hospital visit. Also, he didn’t want to spoil his first night home eating real food with his brothers. That means that dinner goes well. They talk and eat. His appetite still isn’t quite up to his usual, but he eats enough to satisfy them because he knows that at least Athos is covertly watching.

Athos is indeed watching. He knows that Aramis has struggled to eat the last couple days. The infection having exhausted him to the point of nausea at times. They’d picked up sandwiches from their favorite deli as well as some soup that Aramis enjoyed. He isn’t surprised to see the sandwich picked at while Aramis makes slow, but steady progress on the soup.

He plans to wait a while to talk with Aramis about the plans he and Treville discussed today. It’s not a conversation he’s looking forward to. Treville had offered to stop by, but Athos would prefer that only one of them take the brunt of the coming anger and he’ll take it before he’d let the others. This was, in large part, his decision. Treville had given him his opinion but left it up to Athos as the team leader.

Once the table is cleared and dishes done, they move to the den where d’Artagnan claims the remote and channel flips until Porthos takes the remote and turns it to one of the few movies they all enjoy, _Clue_. Although the movie seems to lift Aramis’ spirits some, Athos sees how nervous he is.

When the credits roll and Porthos starts looking for another film to watch, Aramis breaks the tension.

“Athos, when are we going to have the conversation,” he asks calmly, not looking at Athos.

“I had planned on waiting but if you’d rather not,” Athos answers.

“Why keep me waiting?”

“Should we leave,” d’Artagnan asks hesitantly. Porthos stops his search.

“Aramis?” Athos gives him a questioning look.

“It’s fine,” Aramis says with a bite to his words.

“Athos, Aramis, calm down,” Porthos says. “You two sound like one of you’s headed off to the gallows.”

“Have to say it kind of feels like that,” Aramis retorts.

“You have to know that’s not true. We are just trying to help you. We’re worried about you,” Athos says.

“Did you even ask my opinion on the matter?” Aramis gets to his feet as his anger rises. “I know that I’m depressed. I know that I need time off to recover and if you’d just asked me what I wanted, I would’ve probably agreed with you on most of it. But instead, you don’t trust me to make a good decision. You think I’m just reckless. Probably even think I did this myself from my own carelessness.” Aramis holds up his wounded hand. “I’m trying and if you’d just listen instead of putting me on administrative leave and foisting me off as a babysitter then you’d find me more agreeable to this plan.”

Aramis doesn’t wait for a response. He doesn’t want to hear whatever Athos has to say or what the others will say in their team leader’s defense. And as he marches upstairs, aware and uncaring of how petulant the action is, he doesn’t look at them.

For Athos, Porthos, and d’Artagnan, the sound of socked feet hitting the wooden steps harshly is followed by the bang of Aramis’ door. Athos and Porthos know enough of his moods to know that they won’t see him for the rest of the night.

Porthos curses. “That could’ve gone better.”

“He’s alright up there, right,” d’Artagnan asks, looking in the direction of Aramis’ room.

“Yeah,” Porthos says. “He’ll be up there for the night, but he’ll follow orders tomorrow.” Porthos is carefully watching Athos, who hasn’t moved and said anything since Aramis started his rant. “You okay there, Athos?”

“Um… Yeah,” Athos answers absently.

“He’ll get over it. What you did was for the best.”

“I know.” Athos nods. He doesn’t regret the leave or the arrangements to have Aramis stay at the Treville’s, but he does regret not asking Aramis’ opinion. They’d worked hard in that first year to establish trust and he felt as though that’d been wiped out with this single conversation. He hoped it was just a minor hiccup, but he hadn’t seen Aramis so mad in a few years.

“Do you want me to go up and talk with him?”

“No, it won’t do any good. You know what he’s like when he’s angry.” Athos sighs. “Just find a movie.”

Porthos hesitates for a moment but then continues his search for something to watch. Athos is right, there’s little that can be said to Aramis right now. He’s far too angry to listen.

Up in his room, exhaustion has won out over the angry pacing Aramis was doing just moments before. Much of his remaining energy had been put into that rant. Underneath the anger, there is a part of Aramis that feels guilty. He shouldn’t’ve directed his anger at Athos. The man has been working hard over the last several months to help him deal with his breakup with Anne. He’s seen Athos’ own moods shift downwards as evidenced by the increasing bouts of insomnia he’s been plagued with. Yelling at him, making him feel guilty, where there was none, wasn’t going to help him.

Had the anger still not been ruling his thoughts and emotions, Aramis might’ve gone down then to apologize. But he couldn’t help the feelings of betrayal and mistrust, handing him off like a child to be looked after. And he was simply supposed to go along with it all. Though Athos hadn’t told him, he’d been informed at the hospital that a nurse would be coming by every day this week when he was at the Treville’s to change his bandages because he couldn’t be trusted to do it himself.

His thoughts wandered for a moment. Then…

He thought, maybe he was nothing more than a burden to them all. They hadn’t asked for him to be in their lives. It had been going well for them before he joined, before he forced himself upon them out of pity and duty to Treville. And were they really going to turn him away when he left the Treville’s? Not in front of the Captain or Sarah. And then he got Porthos kicked out his apartment and now he couldn’t get over Anne. How many times had he dated in the last several years and he couldn’t get over one woman? It was pathetic, he thought.

And she, she’d probably gone on without another thought to him. Meanwhile, he sunk deep into depression, nearly jumped into the lake and would have had Athos not come down so quickly. Such a pathetic mess. No wonder they didn’t trust him on his own. He couldn’t even cut a watermelon without winding up in the ER nor could he keep it clean without spending a weekend there, causing them all worry and lost personal days looking after him.

Maybe there really wasn’t someone after him. Maybe it was all just in his head like they thought. They had looked and even if he didn’t fully trust them, they were professionals. They had honor and wouldn’t leave him in danger if there had been.

But he knows he saw something. Deep down underneath the doubt from depression and PTSD, he knows someone is out there after him. At least he thinks so. Maybe they’re right. Maybe he needs watching to keep him safe from himself. Maybe then things would be better.


	17. A Caregiver Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While they're all worried about Aramis, Porthos realizes that they should also be worried about Athos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my secondary goal in this story is to highlight the troubles of caregivers because it's not an easy task. That said, there's a bit of a shift in this chapter to Athos and you'll find out more about his depression. 
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

As Athos and Porthos predicted, Aramis behaves the next day. He doesn’t say much and none of them, not even d’Artagnan, engage him in conversation. Instead, breakfast is quiet save for the clinking of silverware and cups.

“Do you want me to drive him over,” Porthos asks Athos as they’re cleaning up the kitchen. He hasn’t missed how slow Athos is moving today. He knows the man hit the snooze button an extra time and can’t have gotten more than a few hours of sleep.

“No.” Athos sighs. “I set this in motion, I’ll deal with him.” He tosses the towel on the counter and goes to get his things. He’ll have to leave from the Treville’s, catching the train with the captain.

“Hey.” Porthos stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, turning him so he can look at Athos. “Just like we’ve got his back during this, we’ve got yours, too. You need a break or to talk, you just have to come to us.”

Athos nods. “I’m thinking, though, that those trusting ears have been reduced,” he says, leaving the room too quick for Porthos to say anything more. Porthos leans back against the counter, at a loss over what to do. As much as he hated it, Aramis needs the time off and he doesn’t need to be alone during it. Though Athos had made the final decision, he’d asked them all for input, hoping to find a better solution. He hopes that Aramis will soon see reason and apologize to Athos because the guilt wasn’t doing the man any favors and it’d been there before Aramis’ explosion.

Porthos is still in the kitchen, doing the final bits of cleaning when Athos and Aramis come through, heading to the garage. Neither looks happy, with Aramis back to looking angry.

“I’ll catch up with you in the office,” Athos says on his way out. He holds the screen door for Aramis.

“Okay. Have a good day at the Treville’s, Aramis.” Porthos tries to make his voice as cheerful as he can manage. He gets angry silence and a harshly shut door in response. He sighs tiredly. “It’s going to be a long month.”

“Was that Aramis and Athos leaving,” d’Artagnan asks, walking into the kitchen.

“And neither looking too pleased about it.”

“What’re we going to do?”

“Keep a close eye on both. Aramis may be in the forefront of our minds most often for his illnesses, but Athos has his own battles with depression and he’s good about hiding them.”

d’Artagnan pauses. He’s known some about Athos’ depression. It came in cycles and while it had the potential to be just as severe as Aramis’, d’Artagnan has yet to see it get that bad.

“Don’t worry,” Porthos says when he sees d’Artagnan’s worried look. “Knowing is half of the battle. Athos is quite experienced in self-care though he occasionally needs a nudge to get him going.”

“Okay.” d’Artagnan tries to sound positive.

“It’ll be fine. This is just a little bump in the road. What won’t be okay is if we miss the train. Let’s get going.”

As the minutes turn to hours to days and finally weeks for Aramis, there’s a steady routine that sets in. Athos takes him to the Treville’s where, for the first week, a nurse comes in the morning to take care of the wounds. After that Frice determines the wounds are healed enough to remove the stitches and reduce the bandaging, though they are still splinted for another week.

Aramis spends his mornings, once he’s past the anger and shame of being chauffeured around like a child, searching online for the man d’Artagnan says helped them when he was hit by the car. He uses his Musketeer credentials to get into police databases in hopes that he might find some record, some clue as to who the man is.

Everything d’Artagnan has told him about the strange man makes Aramis think he has to be the stalker he just doesn’t understand why. It’s been a couple years since he’s done undercover work and his only known enemy, Marsac, is behind bars with all family connections severed by the family. Maybe, he thinks, Anne’s husband found out about their relationship. After finding out that she was married, Aramis never spoke to her again. He slipped out of the apartment and ignored all calls from her.

In the afternoons he looks after the kids, helping them with their homework and keeping them busy until Sarah and Treville come home. When Treville comes home, Athos comes with him. He and Aramis make the quiet drive back home.

During that first week of leave, Athos doesn’t attempt much conversation. He greets Aramis and asks about his day, getting simple responses. In truth, though the responses are worrisome, Athos is grateful for the lack of conversation because he’s not up to talking either. Work has been enough for him and if he didn’t have to keep up appearances at home because Porthos and d’Artagnan couldn’t deal with the two of them spiraling downwards, Athos would’ve just gone to his bedroom to sleep the remainder of the day away.

Instead, he stays downstairs, helping Porthos in the kitchen. He and d’Artagnan have been trading off helping Porthos since Aramis had been restricted from the kitchen. If he’s not helping Porthos, Athos sits in silence watching whatever someone else decides to watch on TV. At one point he even watches the Arrowverse shows, marathoned by d’Artagnan, and admits to himself that they’re passable for television.

As the weeks go on, Aramis seems to forget some of his anger becoming immersed in something on his laptop. When he isn’t eating or sleeping, it seems he’s on the laptop but hasn’t told them what he’s doing. As far as Athos is concerned it can’t be anything too serious and it’s keeping him from slipping into apathy. The younger man talks a little more, though most of it is prompted conversation.

It’s sometime in the third week of Aramis’ leave Athos thinks, he’s lost count of the days though, when Porthos pulls him aside at work. d’Artagnan’s been sent out to get lunch, a command that Athos thinks now was rather deliberate on Porthos’ part. He didn’t object to it because he hadn’t really even wanted to leave home this morning. But now…

“How’re you doing, Athos,” Porthos asks. He’s leaning against Athos’ desk, next to Athos, who’s still sitting.

“Fine.” Athos doesn’t bother stopping his work or looking up. The response is automatic.

“Bullshit.”

“What?” Athos stops and looks up, leaning back in his chair to meet Porthos’ gaze.

“You want to tell me lies, too? I’ve gotten used to them from Aramis, especially now with his secret project, but not you.”

Athos sighs tiredly. “What do you want me to say, Porthos. I think you already know how I’m doing.”

“I got an idea but only you can tell me how you’re really doing. You know that. How many times have we told it to Aramis? You were the one who started that with us.”

Athos closes his eyes and leans his head back. He’s not ready for this conversation.

“Do you need some time off,” Porthos asks quietly. It doesn’t happen often, but Athos has in the past taken time off to deal with his depression.

“No,” he answers quickly. He doesn’t even want to think of having to spend time alone with Aramis and that thought makes him put his head down on his desk, resting his head on his folded arms. How could he even think that?

“Then what, Athos? You can’t keep going on like this. You’re miserable and tired.”

Athos doesn’t speak for a long moment. Porthos, worried he might have pushed too hard, puts a hand on Athos’ shoulder.

“I’ll call my psychiatrist this afternoon. He should be able to meet with me tomorrow or the next day and we’ll come up with a plan.” Athos sighs, finally pulling his head up and looking at Porthos. “I’m depressed, Porthos, again.”

Athos would like to throw something and if they weren’t at work he might’ve. He’s dealt with dysthymia since he was a college student. He’d thought that nearly fifteen years of dealing with it would’ve made it easier, but it always seems that just when he’s stable, when he’s symptom free something happens to set it off and then it’s a struggle to get back to the baseline.

“I’m here for you, Athos,” Porthos says quietly but in a firm voice. “And I’m sure d’Artagnan will be, too.”

“He…”

“I know, he doesn’t know but we’ll talk with him.” It’s been a few years since Athos last had a serious episode and the younger man hadn’t been with them then.

“Aramis?”

“Maybe this will pull him out of his mood. Get his head out of his ass,” Porthos spits out.

“It’s not his fault, Porthos,” Athos admonishes quietly.

“And you think it’s yours? We all made the decision and he knows that. I was okay with his initial anger, but his attitude now is ridiculous, childish almost. He owes you an apology for how he’s treated you.”

“No. He’s depressed and irritated.”

“He might be depressed but it’s not an excuse for treating your friends like shit.”

“He doesn’t trust us.”

“No reason for him not to.” Porthos pauses. “You think so?”

“Not as much as he used to. We don’t believe that he has a stalker.”

“We’ve looked though, and he doesn’t. It’s his depression and PTSD flaring up again.”

Athos nods, looking down at his hands, playing with a pencil.

“Do you think he does,” Porthos asks.

“No,” Athos says confidently. “But I think he thinks he does and that’s good enough in his mind. Remember that it’s not just depression we’re dealing with here. It’s paranoia. He has seen things before and believed them. Remember a few years ago when he was convinced one of his Navy buddies was trying to get in touch with him and we found out he’d died in the ambush?”

“Yeah. So, what do we do? We can’t lose him, can’t let him go off the deep end. If he tries to leave again I’m not sure that we’ll find him this time.”

“No, you’re right. We won’t and if he doesn’t trust us, then he’ll leave without hesitation.” Athos pauses. “We need to find him a psychiatrist. He needs to start talking to someone and get a treatment plan, even if he doesn’t want to.”

“We’re really going to force this on him?”

“I think we watch him and we start looking for psychiatrists. We need to get him moving. Next week Frice should release him back to part-time duty as well as the kitchen and his workshop, so we get him busy rather than sitting around staring at that laptop of his.”

“And you?”

“I’ll try to get going.” Athos sighs not relishing the prospect.

“You want to start coming to the center with me on Saturdays?” As much as he can manage, Porthos volunteers at the local Boys and Girls Club, a group that had been influential on him as a kid, every Saturday.

“And be around a bunch of screaming kids?”

“They’re not like that. And you don’t have to be in the gym. Some of them use the time to do homework or practice reading. You can sit with them if you want something quiet.”

Athos is quiet for a moment. “Actually, I think it would be good for all of us to go down. A new habit for the fall.”

“You think Aramis will be up for it?”

“It’s children and volunteering. Two things he likes very much. He may fight it to start, but we all do have some community service hours left to fill. That will be a good way to start going and then we’ll have to drag him away.”

“Even with his problems?”

“It might help. One of us will stick around just to be sure that nothing happens. And as much as he’s worried about hurting Ben, Meg, and Tim, he never actually did, even at his worst. Sarah and the Captain weren’t the ones to ban him from their house. He did it himself.”

Porthos waits until next week to talk with Aramis and d’Artagnan about volunteering on Saturdays. By then Frice has released Aramis to light duties including the kitchen and his workshop. Athos has been meeting with his psychiatrist though it’ll take time before any treatment starts having an effect. Still, Porthos is relieved to know that Athos is being proactive. If only Aramis were the same.

It’s Friday and they’re nearly done with dinner when Porthos makes the suggestion.

“I know we all have some community service hours that need filled. I thought this would be a good way to take care of some of them and with school back in session, the center is busy with kids playing and needing homework help,” Porthos says. The community service hours are another part of the Musketeer experiment. Each Musketeer has to complete 150 hours a year. There’s no requirement on where the hours are spent, but most find underserved areas in Chicago to serve their hours. It’s done a lot to build up the community relations and respect for the Musketeers much to Richelieu’s dismay.

“I’m up for it,” d’Artagnan agrees quickly. Athos nods his agreement even though he’d already agreed last week.

“’Mis?” Porthos turns to Aramis.

“I’m not sure,” Aramis says, pushing the remaining food on his plate around with his fork.

“It’ll be fine. You can sit in the homework room and help there. I think Athos might as well. Or you can help organize activities in the gym. d’Artagnan you’d probably enjoy being in there as well.” Porthos knows Aramis’ hesitation but won’t call him out on it unless he brings it up.

“It’ll be more fun with all of us, Aramis,” d’Artagnan says. “And you know there’s not much time left to get our hours in.”

Aramis hesitates for another moment, thinking before he agrees.

“Good. They’re expecting me there around 10 and I’m sure they’ll be happy to see the three of you back,” Porthos says. While the other three aren’t regulars there, they help out around holidays and breaks so the staff and several of the kids know them.


	18. Just a Figment of the Imagination?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things seem to be looking up for Aramis, finally, but then he sees something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who are still reading and who leave a comment. I know this story is slow moving (we're not half-way done yet), but the end will be worth it, I hope. But, from now on, Constance plays a larger role and we see her friendship with Aramis and the others.
> 
> Thanks also to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

Volunteering at the Boys and Girls Club turns out to be good for all of them and they easily get into a habit of going every Saturday. Aramis is a bit hesitant at first and doesn’t complain when one of them stays around him. He’s always been good around kids but since the ambush and appearance of his array of mental illnesses as well as their recent return, he’s been worried about being around them. In part, he worries that the sight of a kid might trigger a flashback. Ben and Tim did at various times when he stayed with Treville. Worse though, he worries about hurting a kid when he’s having an attack. It’s why he refused for months to step foot in the Treville’s house or even go near the kids, especially when Meg was still an infant.

Despite having a flare-up of depression and PTSD nothing happens at the center. Halfway through their third visit, he finds himself getting pulled away from helping with a 3-on-3 basketball game to a game of volleyball in the other gym. He doesn’t tell the girls who drag him away that he’s terrible at volleyball. In school, the only advantage his six-foot frame gave him was to be hit more easily on the head with the ball. Basketball and soccer he got, but the coordination and timing to hit an incoming ball with his hands escaped him repeatedly as did his consciousness on one or two memorable occasions.

Still, he plays and they forgive his clumsiness, him missing the ball more times than not, and pick him back up when he dives too hard for a ball. It’s the best time he’s had playing volleyball and the most he’s laughed in weeks. When Porthos comes in to tell him the center is closing up for the day and the parents are coming to pick up the kids, he groans as loud as the kids, missing Porthos’ grin when he throws his head dramatically in the air.

Getting back to work, after administrative leave, unfortunately, is not as fun. He’s stuck to half-days for the first week as Frice doesn’t want him overexerting himself. He hates leaving after lunch. The plus side of coming back to work is that he’s free of the liaison work. That’s gone to Mark on team three until the end of the year.

By week two of being back at work and no accidents, he’s given the okay to return to regular duty. He’s still feeling the pull of depression but being back to work helps. He may still be spending more nights than he cares awake until it’s nearly dawn and catching up on sleep while watching TV in the den with his brothers, but the distraction is helpful. For at least eight hours of the day, he has something to force his mind off of his growing misery.

And in all of it, he doesn’t miss Athos’ own difficulties. He’s still angry with the man and worries that he’s looking for a way to get rid of him. He knows though that he’s getting help, that Porthos and d’Artagnan have seen to it that he’s not struggling alone. Not long ago, Aramis would’ve been the one Athos talked to about his depression. It hurts that Athos doesn’t come to him, but Aramis understands and is glad that he’s gone to the others, at least. It’ll be a slow climb back up for Athos, but the man’s strong. Aramis knows he can do it.

Porthos is enjoying the warm October air. He and Aramis are out talking to some witnesses for the Knotmire case. They thought they’d cracked it a month ago, even after the botched mission back in July, but the dots didn’t connect and it sent them back to the drawing board. Still, Porthos doesn’t mind. He always enjoyed walking the streets, talking to people when he was a cop. Had it not been for the Musketeers, he’d still be a cop, but he quickly saw that he could do more for this city as a Musketeer than he ever could as a cop.

He’s also happy to see Aramis back on the job and looking more his old self. He knows the man isn’t better but it’s an improvement. He’s been helping in the kitchen again and he’s back out in his workshop. Some days d’Artagnan wanders out there helping Aramis make the Halloween decorations and learning more about woodworking.

Right now, d’Artagnan and Athos are a couple blocks away talking to some other witnesses. Athos is still functioning, which is a relief to Porthos. Like Aramis, the man isn’t better but the weekly psychiatrist appointments and new treatment plan seem to be working. Spending Saturdays at the center has helped all of them, Porthos realizes.

It’s on their way back to the car that the peacefulness of the last two weeks is shattered when Aramis bolts without explanation. With a loud curse, Porthos takes off after him, grabbing his phone at the same time to call Athos.

“Aramis has taken off,” Porthos says the second he hears Athos pick up.

“What?”

“He bolted. Didn’t say anything. I’m trying to catch up with him but I’m going to need some help. He’s in sprinting mode.” Porthos is a good runner, but he’s not the sprinter that Aramis and d’Artagnan are. While he can’t reach their speeds though, he is the best endurance runner in the task force.

“Where are you? I’ll send d’Artagnan out to catch up while I finish this interview.”

Porthos tells him where he’s heading and where he last saw Aramis. He hears Athos talking to d’Artagnan as he hangs up the phone and he returns his full focus to finding Aramis. Every corner he turns, alley he passes he hopes to catch sight of Aramis’ unruly hair. Since getting out of the Navy and getting his life back in order, Aramis has refused to cut his hair beyond regular trimmings, keeping it steadily at just a few inches above his shoulders, just enough to test Treville’s limits on professional appearances.

d’Artagnan catches up with him just as he spots a mop of familiar unruly hair down an alley.

“d’Art!” Porthos doesn’t have breath for more than that. He’s been pushing himself the last several blocks to run faster as the worry grew. d’Artagnan doesn’t react to the hated nickname, seeing instead Porthos waving him over to an alley. “He’s down here.”

d’Artagnan turns and speeds up to cross the last several yards between them. As he gets close, he sees Porthos kneeling in front of Aramis (that hair really is unmistakeable), who’s bent over, hands resting on his knees, leaning against the brick wall behind him. He hears the ragged breaths when he gets close, nearly skidding to a stop.

“What’s wrong,” d’Artagnan asks, a little breathless himself. It’s nothing compared to the pained wheezing coming from Aramis.

“Asthma attack,” Porthos says. He’s just about caught his breath. “He must’ve been running hard and with the hay fever, it was just waiting to happen. Go out to the end of the alley and look for Athos. He should be coming soon. Keep breathing, ‘Mis. Steady breaths in and out.”

d’Artagnan takes one last look at Aramis before heading out to wait for Athos.

“No, no,” Porthos says gently. “Don’t sit down. That’s just going to make it worse.” d’Artagnan looks back to see Porthos holding Aramis up.

“Can’t,” Aramis says breathlessly. “Pl’s, ‘orth’.” Aramis takes another breath. “Please,” he wheezes out. Porthos gives in, seeing Aramis’ legs threaten to give out the second before they do. He catches Aramis, helping to lean him back against the brick wall, forcing him to stretch his legs out in front when he wants to pull them against his heaving chest.

“No. You’re going to restrict your breathing even more if you do that.” Porthos moves closer to Aramis, taking Aramis’ hand to put on his chest. “Feel my breathing, ‘Mis. Try to match it.” Aramis glances up and Porthos sees the panic as he nods his understanding before dropping his head again because taking his next breath takes that much concentration.

Porthos doesn’t hold back his curse and Aramis can’t hide his bodily wince. They should’ve been carrying an inhaler on them, Porthos thinks. And Aramis shouldn’t’ve run off like that, the other part of his mind supplies.

“Where is Athos,” Porthos nearly growls. He holds onto Aramis’ hand, the one on his chest when it starts slipping. “Keep breathing for me, ‘Mis. Athos is coming.”

Their single inhaler is in the first-aid kit in the trunk of the car.

He gets caught up in listening to the strained breathing and doesn’t hear Athos and d’Artagnan run up. He doesn’t even see Athos until there’s a hand holding an inhaler coming to Aramis’ mouth. His first instinct is to bat the hand angrily away until he recognizes the ring on the ring finger. It’s Athos and he’s helping Aramis to take a puff of the medication, instructing him calmly on what to do even though Aramis already knows more than a dozen times over.

The first dose does little and the second not much more, not right away. They sit in the alley, Porthos still holding Aramis’ hand to his chest, Athos with a hand on Aramis’ chest, and d’Artagnan holding on this his ankle while Aramis slowly starts to regain a normal breathing pattern. None of them notice particularly how long it takes. When the tension starts to release from Aramis’ body and his breathing is steadier, the wheeze is still present. It will be, they know, for a while after an attack like this.

“Thanks,” Aramis says, voice rough. “I think we can go now.” He swallows with a wince against his aching throat.

“You think?” Porthos tries to hold back his anger. “Maybe you need to go to the ER after this.”

“I’m fine. It was just an asthma attack. It’ll take time for everything to settle back down but I’m good now. Sorry for worrying you.”

“Sorry?”

“Porthos,” Athos warns. He turns his attention back to Aramis. “Are you sure you’re good to go?”

“Yeah. Like I said it was just an asthma attack.”

“Alright then.” Athos is quick in his response to cut off any further comment from Porthos. “Let’s get back to the car then and head to the station. We can discuss this more there.”

Porthos sets his anger aside for the moment, helping Athos to get Aramis standing. The younger man is alert and in better condition than just minutes ago, but the attack clearly took a lot out of him and the last thing any of them want is him falling and hurting himself. He sways a little once he’s standing, but Porthos easily supports him.

“I think I can walk back,” Aramis says.

“Okay, just take it slow,” Athos says. The three of them stay close to Aramis as he makes his way back to the car. d’Artagnan goes ahead a few steps to open the door and lends Aramis a steady hand as he eases down into the backseat.

“Thanks, d’Artagnan. I got it from here.” Aramis starts to pull on the seatbelt. d’Artagnan closes the door and turns to Porthos and Athos.

“Who’s in the back,” he asks.

“Why don’t you take it. I think he’s most comfortable with you right now,” Athos says. d’Artagnan gives him a slightly puzzled look but he ignores it, telling Porthos to do the driving. The drive back to the station is quiet. Aramis leans against the door, trying to ignore the tension. He knows the others are sneaking glances at him. Porthos, he supposes, has a right to be angry with him. He did run off without explanation, but the asthma attack was nothing he could’ve planned for.

It’s not until they’re back at the station that Porthos starts up again.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I saw something,” Aramis answers. He’s back at his desk, gratefully sitting in his chair. The crisis of the attack may be over, but his chest is still tight and aches.

“You saw something? Why didn’t you tell me? Instead, you just took off without warning leaving me chasing after you. Athos had to finish his interview alone to send d’Artagnan out to help track you down.”

“It was fine, Porthos,” Athos says. He doesn’t like the tone of this conversation. While he doesn’t like that Aramis ran off without explanation, it’s done and he doesn’t have the energy or desire to further contemplate it.

“It’s the principle of it, Athos. Running off without a word.” Porthos looks briefly at Athos, seeing instantly the weariness in the man’s face. “What did you see?” Porthos looks back to Aramis, trying to keep his tone calm.

“A man,” Aramis nearly mutters not looking up.

“A man? Anything special about him? Was he related to our case,” d’Artagnan asks. He takes a few steps closer to Aramis, seeing the tension in the man’s body at Porthos’ questioning.

“I thought he might’ve been that man who helped me when I was hit by the car.”

“Why are you looking for him? We cleared him of any suspicious activity,” Athos says.

“You couldn’t find him, you mean,” Aramis says, frustration just beneath the surface. He looks up at the three of them, face straight with anger until a small coughing fit breaks it.

“No, we couldn’t, but we determined that he had nothing to do with the accident other than being a good Samaritan.”

“And you don’t think that’s strange? Just… a coincidence that a doctor is right there to help when I’m hit by a car?”

“It was lucky. You were lucky your distraction didn’t lead to a worse injury,” Porthos says.

“My distraction?” Aramis coughs again, the wheezing clear to them all. “I was not… distracted. Someone’s following… me.”

“Go get the nebulizer from the Captain, Porthos,” Athos says, once again stopping Porthos from commenting. “d’Artagnan take Aramis to the breakroom.”

“I’ll do the treatment… here,” Aramis says.

“d’Artagnan.” Athos turns to their youngest, who doesn’t hesitate in ushering Aramis out of his chair and into the breakroom. For his sake, Aramis doesn’t protest.

He’s sitting in the corner on a couch when Athos and Porthos come in, nebulizer in hand.

“You need to be sitting at a table, Aramis,” Porthos says. He doesn’t wait for Aramis to move, setting the device down on the nearest table, which happens to be closest to the doors, where all can easily see inside as they pass by.

Aramis groans but moves, coughing continuing as he trudges over.

“Hopefully, this takes care of the lingering wheezing,” Athos says. The nebulizer is plugged in and set up. He holds the pipe out for Aramis to take. “If it doesn’t, we’ll have to take you to the ER.”

Aramis stays silent but takes the pipe. He turns on the machine before Athos can and puts the pipe in his mouth to take in the medication.

“We’ll be out at the desks taking care of paperwork but let us know if you need anything.”

Aramis ignores them, taking out his phone instead to check on his messages. He misses d’Artagnan’s worried glance as the three walk out.

Aramis is alone in the breakroom for about ten minutes when Constance walks in.

“Hey, Aramis,” she says, going to the sink to refill her water bottle. Aramis gives a half-hearted wave. Once her bottle is refilled, she walks over to where he sits. “Do you mind?” She points to the chair across from him. He shakes his head.

“Asthma attack,” she asks, sitting down.

He nods his head.

“How?”

“They didn’t tell you?” He pulls the pipe out briefly to speak.

“No. I just came to get more water.”

“Thought they might’ve sent you in here.”

“Make sure you keep that in your mouth, ‘Mis,” Porthos says, startling them both. Aramis quickly puts the pipe back but doesn’t meet Porthos’ gaze.

Constance waits until Porthos leaves, sensing the tension to speak again.

“Everything okay?”

Aramis nods then shrugs his shoulders.

“Rough day of work?”

Aramis rolls his eyes slightly and nods.

“How much longer do you have there?”

He holds up eight fingers.

“Well, until you can talk and tell me about your day, you want me to tell you about the range training this summer?”

Aramis nods eagerly. He’d worked with her before she went to her summer courses to get her proficient on the shooting range so she’d not only be comfortable but excel. As the first female Musketeer, she has a lot to prove. She is determined and, largely, has the support of the other Musketeers, especially the Inseparables.

He listens happily as she tells him about the summer. Her instructors were impressed with her abilities, including her scores, which, though not perfect, were top in her class.

“I want to learn to shoot rifles next,” she says.

Aramis gives her a questioning look. He’s nearly done with the treatment, but he doesn’t want to risk another reminder.

“A bit much?”

He shakes his head, checking the canister on the pipe. It’s empty so he takes the pipe out of his mouth and turns the nebulizer off.

“Then what?”

“I just don’t understand why, Constance. We don’t have a high demand for snipers or even rifle use on the force. There’s just half a dozen with certified training and even fewer with sniper training.” He starts taking the nebulizer apart to clean it.

“But it wouldn’t hurt to have another, would it?”

“Constance, you don’t have to do anything extra to secure your place. Just do your studies, follow Treville’s orders, and learn from your fellow Musketeers. I know you’re worried about being the first female Musketeer but don’t. Treville and Porthos made sure that the requirements were the same and you’re doing fantastic. I’d say better than d’Artagnan when he was a cadet,” Aramis adds quietly with a smile.

“Okay.” She nods. He gathers the nebulizer parts and takes them over to the sink to wash them.

“But, if you really want to learn how to shoot a rifle, I’m happy to teach you. Of the new Musketeers we’ve had join the last few years, you’re the first I see sniper potential in. You’re calm, steady, and patient.”

“Thanks.”

“It won’t be easy though and you’ll have to pass my test before you can take Treville’s.”

She nods, watching him rinse the parts, thinking back to the irritation and tension she saw when Porthos dropped by.

“So, what happened today?”

Aramis tells her about his afternoon, the questioning of suspects, him seeing that man, running after him, and then the asthma attack.

“Are you sure it was that guy,” she asks. She’d been filled in on the incident from d’Artagnan.

“Yes,” Aramis says quickly. “And no. I just… I had a hunch. I thought I saw something.”

“Did you catch a better view at all?”

“No. Other than that glimpse out of the corner of my eye, I didn’t see anything. Anyway,” he sighs, grabbing a clean towel to dry off the nebulizer pieces, “they all think I’m losing it.”

“I’m sure they don’t. I think they’re just worried and they don’t know how to help you.”

“They can help me by finding this guy.”

“You’re sure he’s the key to your stalker?”

“He’s the best lead I have. Wait, you believe me?”

“I believe in you, Aramis. I know that you’re a good spotter. You have to be to have earned all the marks you have as a sniper.”

“But you don’t believe I have a stalker.”

“I don’t know, honestly. I haven’t looked into things myself. I can’t really, not with my workload. I know the others are doing what they can and maybe it’ll just take time to uncover something.”

“I want to believe that they’re trying, but I know they’re frustrated. I’ve hardly been able to work the last several weeks.”

“They’re worried, Aramis. Give them a chance. They won’t give up.”

“Sure.” He nods. He’s not sure about her confidence in them, but perhaps he can give them another chance.

“And make sure to carry your inhaler. Hay fever season’s going to be long this year. I don’t want to hear that you’re taking another trip to the ER.”

“Yes, Constance,” he says with a slight bow.

“You good now?”

“Yeah. I’m just going to finish this up and then get back to work. Got to pull my fair share.”

“Just give them a chance, okay? And text or call me later if you need or want to.”

“Sure. Good luck with your new team.”

“I wish I was back with you guys.”

“So, do we, but we’re full up, unfortunately.”

Constance sighs lightly before leaving. Aramis puts the pieces to the nebulizer back together, returns the device to Treville, and goes back to work.


	19. A Brief Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baking for Meg's school's International Day provides them all with a distraction from their current troubles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a bit fluffy veering towards cheesy but even when things are bad, there are some lighter moments. 
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

The remainder of the day is spent working through the information they got from their interviews. Conversation between them is tense, but Aramis tries to make it work. He wants to follow Constance’s advice to give them the benefit of the doubt, but it’s hard given the last month. Still, he wants to prove that he still belongs on the team and he knows that this is one way to do that.

By the time they are heading home, having worked late and eaten in the office, Aramis is tired and a little sore from his asthma attack. He swallows and can’t help a slight wince at the roughness of his throat.

“You okay,” d’Artagnan asks.

“Yeah, just some lingering soreness from today. Nothing a little sleep won’t fix.” He gives d’Artagnan a smile.

“You sure? You’re not injured at all?”

“No.” He chuckles at the younger man’s quickened pace. The concern is real. “Just need some sleep.”

“Okay.”

“You two ready,” Athos calls from the door.

“Coming,” Aramis answers.

He’s careful to keep up on the way back. The attack is hours in the past, but his breathing is still a little off and his ribs ache from his earlier efforts to breath. There’s no comment on his silence for which he’s glad. It lets him focus on keeping up and breathing as normally as possible.

Once home, he heads up to bed with nothing more than a comment about being tired. Fortunately, he has a nebulizer in his bedroom. After a treatment, he finishes getting ready for bed and climbs in, hoping that sleep will come easily for once. It does until early in the morning. He’s not sure if it was insomnia waking him or asthma, but he can’t go back to sleep, not even after using his inhaler. Athos, he figures, is probably downstairs, so he opts to stay upstairs in bed. Athos hadn’t been as mad as Porthos, but he doesn’t want to risk a serious conversation about his health and decision-making tonight. Instead, he surfs the internet on his phone and tries to sleep until the sun comes up and he has to get ready for another day of work.

The following week, on a Tuesday, the four of them and Constance have an evening with the Treville’s. Tomorrow is Meg’s school’s International Day. They’ve had their dinner, take out from a nearby restaurant to save on cleaning the kitchen. Now, Aramis and the kids are in the kitchen. Aramis is mostly supervising while Meg does the baking and Tim and Ben help wherever they’re directed to. Constance and d’Artagnan are at the kitchen table as Constance works through some homework for class. It’s not quite clear if d’Artagnan is helping or hindering. The others are sitting or standing at the breakfast bar talking and kibitzing on both groups.

“It’s too bad you can’t come to school with me tomorrow, ‘Mis. I bet you could really tell everyone a lot about Spanish culture,” Meg says leaning against the counter. They’re waiting for the cookies to finish baking before they can get the next batch in the oven.

“I don’t know as much as you think, Meg.” Aramis is leaning against the counter to her side. “I’m what they call a second-generation immigrant, or third depending on who you talk to.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that my grandparents immigrated here from Spain.”

“When?”

“1946. They were young, married and with a child. They thought they could do better here. Little did they know the struggles that were to come. They taught me some of the culture, mainly the food, history, and language.”

“Oh. We don’t learn anything like that.”

“Well, that’s because you’re much more distant from your ancestors who immigrated.”

“We have some family recipes, right Meg,” Tim says seeing the disappointment in his sister’s eyes at their family’s apparent lack of ancestral ties.

“Yeah, remember that mincemeat pie mom and dad made us try last Christmas,” Ben says, disgust clear on his face.

“It’s an acquired taste, boys,” Treville says, having overheard the conversation. “I didn’t like it much at your age, but you may as you grow up.”

“I’ll never like it,” Ben retorts. “It has meat and raisins in it.”

“And brandy,” Athos says with a smirk.

“Just the taste. The alcohol’s all cooked out,” Aramis adds.

“That doesn’t make it taste any better,” Tim says.

“I one hundred percent agree with that,” Constance calls out. d’Artagnan echoes her disgust. The kids laugh and the adults chuckle.

“Don’t you have work to be doing, Constance,” Porthos asks.

“Yes, and it’d be much easier to do if d’Artagnan here wasn’t giving his two cents on everything.”

“d’Artagnan, why don’t you get in the kitchen and help with cleaning up,” Athos says. “We don’t want to leave Sarah and the Captain with all of this mess.”

“Isn’t that Aramis’ job? He is the one in there baking.” d’Artagnan wanders slowly over to the breakfast bar to look in on the kitchen happenings. There’s not too much of a mess, which isn’t surprising because Aramis likes to clean up as he’s working and he’s taught the kids to do the same. There are a couple dozen cookies cooling on racks while Meg and Ben work on putting more the trays.

“Hey, d’Art, if you don’t like mincemeat, then what do you like? I thought all adults liked that,” Tim asks.

“Yes, d’Art,” Athos says with emphasis on the children’s nickname for him, giving d’Artagnan a challenging smirk, “what do you like if you don’t like mincemeat?”

d’Artagnan holds back his grimace at the nickname. He’s not fond of it, but he knows that his name was hard for the kids to pronounce when they were young. Someday, he’ll have a talk with them, but not today. Everyone’s in a good mood, even Athos and Aramis. He’s not going to spoil a good evening.

“Oh, I always loved cannolis as a kid. They’re not easy to find in the middle of central Illinois, so we’d make them. It started out with just me, my parents, and grandparents in the evenings in the kitchen. As my siblings kept coming along we had to move out into the dining room to have enough space for us all.” d’Artagnan can’t help the wistfulness that seeps into his voice as he talks.

“What are canna… cannole,” Meg stumbles over the word.

“Cannolis,” d’Artagnan says gently. “They’re rolled fried pastry dough filled with a sweet cream.”

“Mmmm.” Meg’s face lights up at the description. “Let’s make those!”

“Not tonight,” Sarah says quickly.

“We’ll make them another time, but we’ll need help from Porthos or Aramis,” d’Artagnan says.

“Why,” Ben asks.

“Because while d’Artagnan has many wonderful skills and talents, baking is not one of them,” Athos says.

“Oh. What are you good at?”

“Benjamin,” Sarah says sternly.

“It’s fine,” d’Artagnan says.

“No, it’s not. You can’t just ask a question like that, Ben. You may want to know what his talents are, but you need to think about how to ask nicely. Can you think of a nice way to ask d’Artagnan what he’s good at?”

Ben is quiet as he thinks. Tim waits a minute, then whispers something in Ben’s ear.

“Really?” Ben stage whispers. Tim nods and gives him a slight nudge. “What kinds of things do you like to do?”

d’Artagnan smiles at the question, which is not really what Ben wants to know, but, he can agree with Sarah, who’s nodding her head, that it’s a politer question.

“Well, Ben, while I do like to try to bake and cook, Porthos and Aramis don’t enjoy my attempts. What I do like, and they appreciate, though, is my skills in cutting. That’s actually how Athos and me help in the kitchen,” d’Artagnan says.

“So, you’ve got knife skills like Athos,” Tim asks.

“And Aramis and Porthos are jealous,” d’Artagnan says in a faux whisper.

“I am not,” Porthos retorts.

“Neither am I. We’re both pretty good ourselves,” Aramis says.

“Oh,” Athos says. “Who diced those onions and potatoes more evenly last weekend?”

“You and d’Artagnan. But my cuts weren’t that bad.”

“No, they weren’t. But you also took twice as long,” d’Artagnan teases.

“See if I make you any more of your favorite bread.”

“Aramis, you wouldn’t take away his bread, would you,” Meg asks.

“No, not really. We all have different talents in the kitchen and we’re quite fortunate to have Athos and d’Artagnan to do all of our prep work.”

“Yes, we are,” Porthos says. “Aramis, have you forgotten the most important rule of baking?”

Aramis gives him a puzzled look.

“Quality control, ‘Mis. Hand us a cookie from each tray.”

“You know if I do that we’ll have to make more cookies,” Aramis teases as he starts stacking some on a plate.

“You quadrupled that recipe. I don’t even know how many dozen cookies you have.”

“Fine, fine. Ben, why don’t you take these cookies over to our testers. Our tasting isn’t enough, I guess.”

Ben takes the plate from Aramis and walks it over to the breakfast bar, setting it on the counter. The others don’t waste any time in eating the cookies.

“So, Porthos? What’re you going to tell Meg about her cookies,” Aramis asks, a smile in his voice.

“Meg,” Porthos begins, pausing dramatically, “these are delicious. Better than Aramis could’ve made.”

“But he did make them,” Meg says.

“I think we made them together,” Aramis says, kneeling down. “The two of us with Ben and Tim’s help. And they are delicious. You three did a fantastic job in getting everything put together.”

Finishing up the rest of the cookies takes a couple more hours and pushes the kids’ bedtime back an hour, but none of them will deny that it was a good time. Constance is the first to leave, having a class early the next day. Despite d’Artagnan’s interruptions, she did manage to get all of her work done. Not long after her, Athos and his brothers leave, leaving Treville and Sarah to put three sleepy kids to bed.

d’Artagnan is happy to see that the good mood doesn’t end when they leave. Aramis and Athos both willingly join them in the den to watch a movie. He enjoys the lack of tension but knows that it won’t last. The depression that has been plaguing both men isn’t gone.

Athos has been going to weekly appointments to meet with his psychiatrist and is actively trying to better sleep, though d’Artagnan isn’t sure that it’s happening. He might just be spending more time wide awake in his room in the early hours of the morning. In addition to the four of them going to the Boys and Girls Club, Porthos and Athos have also been going to the gym, just the two of them. d’Artagnan knows that the two have a close bond from their time before he and Aramis came along. The gym was Porthos’ idea, but he knows Athos agreed to it as well.

Aramis is staying busy in the garage, taking help from them occasionally, but he’s been liking to work alone lately. It’s disappointing because d’Artagnan had wanted to learn more about the woodworking tools so he could start working with them. Aramis hasn’t outright told any of them to stay away, but he also hasn’t invited any of them to hang out. When he’s not working, he’s trying to be more sociable with them, but d’Artagnan can see that it’s an effort. He’d rather be elsewhere, probably on his laptop researching something that none of them can figure out.


	20. Sanding and Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> d'Artagnan and Aramis spend a morning in the workshop where d'Artagnan voices his concerns about Aramis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amidst the serious conversations, we finally get more of d'Artagnan's background. Molly makes a return (sort of) and we find out about her crush. I hope it all goes over well. I'm rather hesitant about this part of the storyline, even though it's very minor.
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

The Sunday before Halloween Aramis finds himself working on the last of the lawn decorations. He’d taken an hour here and there when he could, but between work, volunteering, and exhaustion, he didn’t have much extra time. He’d planned to have the decorations out a week ago, but tonight will be good enough.

The morning had started out as normal. Aramis helped Porthos to get breakfast together, nothing too heavy as Porthos and Athos had their regular Sunday morning gym session. Aramis hasn’t asked what they do, but he knows that it’s a ploy to keep Athos moving. It isn’t that Athos doesn’t see what he needs to do or won’t, but it’ll happen much quicker if one of them gets him motivated. He’s glad that Athos is working to stay on top of his depression.

For him, the volunteering has been helping. Aramis isn’t blind to their ulterior motive, but he doesn’t object because he does enjoy helping out there and working with the kids. And, he knows that this organization has a special place in Porthos’ heart, providing his friend with a safe place when he was a child when school was out and his mom wasn’t home.

He’s also worked to keep himself busy with woodworking and research, there are at least a handful of nights a week that he gets more than a few hours of sleep. It’s still left him tired, depressed, and anxious, all of which he’s been struggling to hide. The best night of the month, he thinks, was that night at the Treville’s. He’d forgotten about everything and just enjoyed his family. That doesn’t happen often anymore.

There’s a knock on the door that startles him out of his work and he drops the plywood he’s working on, just missing his toes.

“Come in,” he calls out.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” d’Artagnan says, stepping in through the door. He stays near the door. “I was just wondering if you’d like some help.”

Aramis pauses for a second. He’d like to be out here alone, but he doesn’t really have much of a reason for that other than wanting to be alone.

“Sure,” he finally says. “I’m just finishing up cutting out some of these letters for the Halloween sign. I could use a hand in holding the board steady.”

d’Artagnan is happy that Aramis has accepted his help. Not only was he bored in the house, he’s been worried about how much the man has been pulling away from them despite the clear attempts to be a part of the group. He follows Aramis’ instructions in where to hold on to the board as the man uses a jig saw to carefully cut out letters. They work quietly for a while, with simple instructions.

“You want to try cutting out the last letter,” Aramis asks. It’s ‘T’, so it shouldn’t be too difficult for d’Artagnan to cut out, considering he’s new to the tool.

“I don’t want it to be uneven.”

“That’s why we have sandpaper. And, if we absolutely need to, I do have more wood. We can just cut out another ‘T’.”

“Okay.” d’Artagnan doesn’t want to sound nervous. He’s used far more dangerous things than a jigsaw. They quickly trade places so d’Artagnan has a better angle at cutting.

“Now, before you get started, take it slow and careful. This isn’t a race. If you need to stop, then stop.”

“Okay.” d’Artagnan nods.

“Most important, always cut away from yourself, never towards. Keep a firm grip on the saw and keep your other hand away from the blade. This is obvious, but I’m going to say it anyway because I don’t want a trip to the ER today. This tool is sharp and will easily cut through your hand. Don’t put your hand near it.”

“Got it.” d’Artagnan doesn’t bristle at the tone because he’s used to this from Aramis when it comes to the workshop. Safety is Aramis’ number one concern.

“Good. Start whenever you’re ready and let me know where you need me to move.” Aramis gives d’Artagnan a slight smile. d’Artagnan hesitates for a moment before carefully lining up the saw blade, making sure the saw is flat, and pressing the on button to start cutting out the last of the letters. He’s sure that it takes him longer than Aramis would’ve taken, but the older man doesn’t say anything, just moves when d’Artagnan directs him to and watches as he holds the board steady.

When he’s done, he shuts off the saw, setting aside as he holds the newly cut-out letter in his hand. Aramis sets the excess board to the side.

“You ready for a lot of sanding,” he asks, picking up sandpaper and wooden blocks.

“Sure.” Sanding isn’t d’Artagnan’s favorite thing to do, but he’ll do it. “How much,” he asks, taking one of the blocks and starting to wrap a sheet of sandpaper around it.

“The larger pieces, the pumpkin, scarecrow, and ghost are done. So, it’s just the letters.”

d’Artagnan remembers from their planning that the letters spell out “Trick or Treat” and would be stacked in three rows on top of each other. The original plans were for “Happy Halloween”, but d’Artagnan convinced Aramis that “Trick or Treat” would look better aesthetically. Wordlessly, they settle into a routine of sanding, the sound of the action filling the room.

“So, how’re things going,” d’Artagnan asks. Aramis holds back a sigh because he doesn’t want to have this conversation today.

“Fine,” he answers as nicely as he can manage. “You? How’d your sister’s first date go?”

“Molly had a blast, though there were some eyes raised and complaints about her going with another girl, but it’s not surprising given the area. Her classmates stood up for her though.”

“That’s great. And how were your parents about it? I know she was worried about them.”

“Happy for her, worried about her going to the dance. Mom had her texting every fifteen minutes. Jack volunteered as a chaperone, though. He took them there and back home. She didn’t want them there and only agreed to Jack.” Jack is the second oldest of the children and opted to learn the farm trade, which was a relief to d’Artagnan. Jack isn’t the most intimidating of people with a body like d’Artagnan’s, but his determination to protect his sister made up for it.

“And everything’s been okay at school?”

“From what I hear, yeah. The kids are okay, it’s the adults that aren’t, but they’ve calmed down a lot. Old man Bill forgot to lock the gate on his cows, so they took a trip down main street and drew most of the attention away from her. Now they’re all mad at him for his cows tearing up things and stopping traffic.”

“Is there really someone in town named Old man Bill,” Aramis asks with a laugh.

“Sort of. It’s mostly a name my brothers and sisters and I gave him ‘cause he lives on the farm next to us. He’s a nice guy, just a little absent-minded. We’d trade food sometimes, some milk for a dozen ears of corn. That sort of thing. He had this really cool abandoned barn that he’d let us play in, too. Mom would invite him over for meals sometimes and holidays.”

Aramis hums, wondering silently if the opened gate wasn’t more intentional than not.

“Sounds like a nice neighbor to have.”

“He was. He never married, never had kids. I’m not sure he ever even dated. He’s just a really nice old man.” d’Artagnan pauses. “He was the one who said I should go out of the area for college. He knew I didn’t really like farming and told me to go out to see the world and find out what I wanted to do.”

“I doubt he meant Chicago,” Aramis says, remembering their first meeting where he saved a wild-eyed d’Artagnan from being mugged.

“He did tell me to be careful.”

“And you followed that advice so well,” Aramis teases. “But as it turns out, you coming to Chicago was for the best. You’ve filled out the team so nicely, it’s like you’ve always been here.”

They lapse back into silence for a while, but d’Artagnan can’t leave his first question go. He’s worried about Aramis. He knows that Porthos is trying to help, but he also knows that things still aren’t right between Aramis and Athos. There’s little he can do and perhaps he should stay out of it, but he cares too much for these three to not.

“Aramis,” d’Artagnan begins, using all the courage he has, “I know you said you are fine, but I know that you’re not. I know that you’re still dealing with everything, you’re just not talking to us about it. If you won’t talk to Athos or Porthos, would you just talk to me? I don’t know as much as them, but I’m worried about you.”

Aramis sighs but remains quiet and d’Artagnan thinks he might’ve gone too far.

“Thank you, d’Artagnan,” Aramis says at last.

“What?”

“Thank you. I appreciate you calling me out. It’s natural for me to turn in on myself in these situations. You weren’t here at the beginning and what little you saw of me in that alley wasn’t enough to really highlight what was going on. I don’t trust easily. I trusted Treville easily because I knew him, but Porthos and Athos were a different story. It took months really.”

“And that trust now,” d’Artagnan asks when Aramis pauses.

“I won’t lie. It’s been fractured, and they know it.”

“Why aren’t you doing something to fix it? Don’t you want to? Is it the depression?”

“It’s not the depression, not completely, at least. About fixing it? I think so, but I don’t know how. I’m disappointed, d’Artagnan. I’m not some random person off the street filing a report that they have a stalker. I’m a trained sniper. I have a record of being accurate about what I see and that’s been ignored.”

“We did look,” d’Artagnan says quietly.

“I know, but have they done anything more? What about that strange man who helped us when I was hit? What about this strange string of accidents I’ve been having? I’m not clumsy, d’Artagnan.”

d’Artagnan refrains from reminding him about the breakup and ensuing depression. Aramis hasn’t been himself for months.

“I know what you’re thinking, d’Artagnan. I know and I’ve thought about it myself. Maybe I am just crazy. Maybe I am seeing things. What I didn’t expect was my friends to so easily jump on that wagon. That’s the part that’s hard to get over.”

“And why you don’t know that you want to fix it,” d’Artagnan adds.

“I don’t want to lose them as friends, but I’ve been around people who don’t support me before. I trusted when I shouldn’t’ve and it left me with lifelong illnesses. I won’t put myself in that position again, if I can help it.”

“Will you talk to me at least? I know you can’t find a psychiatrist, but will you at least talk to me. I don’t know that I can help, but I’ll listen.”

“Being willing is a big step, d’Artagnan, and I appreciate it, more than you can know.”

“But will you?” d’Artagnan isn’t going to let this go until Aramis actually agrees.

“Yes, d’Artagnan,” Aramis says, laughing lightly. “I will talk with you if I need to.”

d’Artagnan is quiet after that, but Aramis can tell that it’s forced. After several moments of strained silence, Aramis speaks. “Not today, d’Artagnan, please. And especially not in here. This is my sanctuary where the outside problems are put aside. Besides, I’ve been putting up with all of these problems for the last several weeks. I want a day where I don’t have to think about them. Where I can do what I want and don’t feel the need to talk.”

“Okay. Sorry. Did you want me to leave?”

Aramis sighs. “d’Artagnan, that’s not what I meant.”

“That’s what it sounded like.” d’Artagnan tries not to be hurt.

“I’m happy you’re here, d’Artagnan. Please, stay if you want to, but I understand if you want to leave.”

“I don’t but I don’t want my presence to upset you more.”

“It’s not.” Aramis pauses, looking down at his sanding. “I’m tired and I’m depressed, d’Artagnan. I don’t like admitting to it, but it’s the truth and it’s wearing me down. Porthos, Athos, Treville, even Sarah, will tell you I get angry sometimes when I’m like this. I try to hold it in, but it’s hard. Athos, when he’s depressed he just keeps it in. Beats himself up over the smallest of things. I do that sometimes too, but then there’s the times I lash out and I don’t want to.”

“Oh.”

“Just give me one day of normalcy, of not feeling like I have to talk about how I feel. You can prattle on about whatever you want. I’ll even listen to how you’re heartsick over Constance and she won’t give you the time of day.”

“I am not heartsick over her,” d’Artagnan retorts.

“Please. I see the looks you give her when she passes through our workspace and how you nearly can’t speak when she so much as says ‘Hello’. There’s nothing wrong with it, d’Artagnan. Just respect her or no one will find you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I won’t need to. I’ll just keep mum on whatever Constance does.”

“I haven’t overstepped, have I?”

“No, you’ve been a gentleman so far. Consider this a warning.”

They easily settle into lighter topics, d’Artagnan letting Aramis set the tone and depth of conversation. By the time Athos and Porthos return, their sanding is done and it’s a good stopping point for lunch. The afternoon is spent assembling the letters, painting the decorations so they’ll still look good during the day, drilling holes for lights, and attaching the posts for display. The sun is setting by the time they’re getting the decorations in the ground and anchored. Porthos and Athos come out to help, holding the pieces and running extension cords until together they get the four pieces stable and lit.

“They look good, Aramis, d’Artagnan,” Athos says.

“You think the neighborhood will approve,” Aramis asks.

“There may be some who don’t like them, but most will. They’re tasteful and fit the neighborhood.”

“Don’t know how they’ll scare the kids, but something’s better than nothing,” Porthos says, starting to head back in. The others follow.

“There’s not much fun in scaring the kids anymore,” Aramis says. “They don’t even let them go out at night anymore and so many go around in cars.”

“Takes all of the fun out of it.”

“Hey, at least you all have fond memories of trick or treating,” d’Artagnan says.

“I don’t suppose it’s very easy to do out on the farm,” Athos says.

“No and mom wouldn’t even let us set up a haunted house in the barn. Especially not after me and Jack scared Ally so bad she refused to sleep in the dark or alone. I think she slept with my parents until Christmas. Jack and I spent the rest of the year waking up early to look after the animals, even on school mornings.”

The rest of the evening is peaceful. The four of them sit in the den, watching TV, kibitzing, talking and for that night, d’Artagnan thinks that everything is fine. In the normalcy of the evening, however, he misses the drawn, tired looks on Aramis and Athos’ faces, the strain it takes on each to engage in normal conversation, to present their customary façades.

Porthos doesn’t though. He knows both men well, has seen them at their worst and lived through it with them. He knows their tricks, but he too is worn by dealing with them and so he lets tonight slide, silently promising himself, d’Artagnan, and them that tomorrow he will do better.


	21. The Incident at the Gun Range

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately for Aramis good things don't last as evidenced by a trip to the gun range with Constance and d'Artagnan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There're probably some mistakes in this chapter about guns. I don't know much about them save for the little bit of research I've done for this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

The Halloween decorations are popular with the neighborhood, as Athos said they would be. Halloween itself goes well, too, especially since d’Artagnan didn’t eat all of the candy like he did last year and Athos found a good spot to hide it from him. Unlike last year, they don’t bother with dressing up, much to the neighborhood kids’ disappointment. d’Artagnan had asked if they were going to, but Aramis gave a shoulder shrug and Porthos and Athos a noncommittal grunt, leaving nothing to come from the query.

They have a long stream of kids, all happy to get their share of candy. At the end, the Treville’s stop by so the kids can get their candy and show off their costumes. The energies that were leading up to Halloween, keeping everyone on an even keel, peters out as the week wears on.

The next weekend, on Saturday morning, Aramis finds himself at the police department gun range with Constance and d’Artagnan. They’d set up the meeting early in the week with d’Artagnan asking to tag along to practice his own skills and perhaps pick up something new from Aramis.

There’s a handful of people at the range when they arrive. They recognize a few of the officers there, a couple officers and one Musketeer. The other two officers must be new, Aramis thinks. The first part of their time is spent warming up, practicing with their handguns on the inside range. Then, when they’re ready to head outside, d’Artagnan gets a call from his family and ducks out of the first part of their rifle training.

“I’ll catch up with you,” he says, pressing the green button on his phone to answer it.

“You still up for this,” Aramis asks Constance.

“Of course. Now, let’s go.” She heads outside, not looking back to check that he’s there. He smiles as he moves to catch up with her. She really was the best of the female candidates and will be a great addition to the force and not just for her skills. As respected as the Musketeers are in the community, being an all-male task force makes it impossible for them to talk to some witnesses and make connections in the community to people who are afraid of men. Aramis hopes that the next round of recruitment brings in more female candidates to help them fill this weak area.

They walk to one of the more secluded areas of the shooting range. It has a range of targets which will be good for Constance to start off with. He’s brought his rifle, which he keeps locked at the range for safe keeping. He used to keep it at home, but as he worked through more of his PTSD and Treville’s kids were around more, he found he felt more comfortable with it kept at the range. It’s not the same one he had in the Navy, but a similar model. The one he had in the Navy had been taken in as evidence and destroyed after he’d been found guilty of murder and insubordination. Truthfully, he’s glad not to have that rifle, as tainted as it was with the end of his service, he’s not sure he’d ever been able to use it.

The first part of the session Aramis shows Constance how to assemble and disassemble the rifle, then asks her to do it a few times. She’s had experience with rifles in the past, but it was minimal, so her first couple times are stumbling efforts, but she improves with each attempt.

“Safety with a rifle is very much the same as it is with a handgun, but it bears repeating because safety is of the utmost importance,” Aramis says and runs through the familiar safety rules. Constance doesn’t groan or sigh. Gun safety is a big part of Musketeer training. Every officer has to re-certify yearly. Guns, however, are rarely used when they’re on duty. De-escalation training is part of the first set of courses they take and weeds out many candidates. They take refresher courses on de-escalation as often, if not more than they do for re-certifying for their guns and failing will put you on administrative leave.

Aramis then talks her through setting up a shot and firing. He makes it seem rather effortless as he hits the target perfectly even while giving her directions and being watched. She knows she’ll have trouble with that, even though it’s Aramis.

“Don’t expect to hit the target your first time. Ask Treville, it took me a while to calm the nerves and understand the basics before I was able to even come close to hitting the target.”

“You?”

“It’s not an innate skill. There are some traits that make it easier, but I still had to learn. Now, make sure to keep good posture. Copy my stance.” He waits to see her get in position. When she’s a little out of proper position, he helps her readjust. She doesn’t complain, knowing that this is part of training and she trusts Aramis.

“Now, you’re lined up for the closest target. Do you see it out there?”

“Yeah,” she says, spotting the target through the scope.

“I want to you take your time, as much as you need, and try to hit the target.”

“Okay.” She’s hesitant.

“You want me to wander off for a few minutes,” Aramis asks quietly.

“No. You’re fine. It’s just…”

“Hard to shoot with someone watching?”

“Yeah, but I want you watching so you can help me fix what I’ve done wrong.”

“Okay, then you need to do your best to pretend I’m not here. If you’re going to try for sniper training, then you’re going to have to get used to ignoring distractions anyway. So, you might as well start now.”

Constance works to settle her nerves. It’s not so much Aramis that she’s worried about shooting in front of. It’s simply doing something unfamiliar in front of someone. She knows that as the first female Musketeer she’s under more scrutiny, no matter what Treville says. Whatever she does will be a reason to allow or deny future females into the ranks. Like Treville, Aramis won’t judge her. She’s not here as a test or even officially as a Musketeer, but that doesn’t mean the pressure is gone.

As she expects, and Aramis said, her first few tries go wild. Aramis helps to correct her as she asks for help. Towards the end of their session, she’s hit the target a few times. She is ready to take her final shot when she hears a short series of shots close to where she stands followed by a cry of pain and frantic scuffling.

“Aramis,” she hears d’Artagnan call out as she clicks the safety on the rifle and stands to investigate. Aramis is nowhere in sight, but she does see d’Artagnan running towards her, looking worried as he looks at the edge of the small hill they’re on.

“Aramis?” She moves to try to find him, spotting him lying still at the bottom of the small hill. He’s moving some, looking up at the dazed as they carefully make their way down. The hill is just five or six feet high, but there’s no sense in rushing and falling on top of Aramis. She’s happy to see him sitting up by the time they reach him.

“Those were shots, weren’t they,” Aramis asks, looking at them as he tries to blink the confusion away.

“Sounded like it,” Constance says.

“There’s no one out here,” Aramis says. “The last person left in the middle of you practicing. You weren’t out here, were you, d’Artagnan?”

d’Artagnan bites back the question over his shooting skills. Aramis is confused and possibly injured. “I was inside this whole time. The phone got passed around and I wasn’t allowed to go until I talked with my grandparents. I was just coming out when I heard the shots and your cry.”

“Who was it then?” Aramis looks around, moving to get to his feet. When he nearly falls over, d’Artagnan moves quickly to steady him, guiding him back to sit on the ground.

“You okay, Aramis,” he asks, visually examining the man.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” The dazed tone does nothing to convince them.

“Are you hit anywhere,” Constance asks, doing her own visual exam.

“Um…” Aramis looks at himself.

“Nothing that I can see,” d’Artagnan says.

“Me either. Some scrapes and probably bruises,” Constance says.

“Concussion?”

“Possibly. We should at least get him inside.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Aramis says quietly.

“Sorry, Aramis,” Constance says. “Do you think you can stand now?”

“I could before. Just got up too fast.”

“I’m sure. Just to be safe though, because I’m sure you don’t want any more injuries, let us help you up and steady you. Okay?”

“Fine.” Aramis sighs but doesn’t fight as they help him to his feet. He is more unsteady still than he’d like, but he is finally able to stand. The walk back to the indoor range is slow and long. They don’t want to rush Aramis, so they let him set the pace, which he unconsciously sets at a slow walk.

“I’m going to get this rifle put away,” Constance says. “Do you mind taking him to the lounge?”

“No,” d’Artagnan says. “I’ll check for other injuries, too. Maybe he’ll start to come around more.”

“Still right here,” Aramis says, though he allows d’Artagnan to continue helping him to the lounge area where he sits at one of the tables.

“I know, but you’re unnaturally quiet. It’s a bit concerning.” d’Artagnan grabs the first-aid kit and comes to sit in a chair in front of Aramis.

“What is? The shots fired or my quietness?”

“Both, of course. Do you mind if I check?” d’Artagnan points to Aramis’ sleeves.

“Fine.” Aramis tries to unbutton them himself, but his fingers won’t work the buttons.

“Let me,” d’Artagnan says, gently pushing Aramis’ hands aside. He quickly unbuttons the sleeves and pushes them up. Aramis’ hands appear to have taken the brunt of the fall, though his forearms do have a few scratches and reddish marks that might become bruises in time.

“You don’t seem too concerned about the shots fired.”

“I am but we are at a gun range. It could’ve been a misfire. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened. Remember those new police recruits last year? They were such terrible shots and goofing off that even Richelieu had to admit they weren’t police material.”

“I know, but those were aimed at me.”

“I didn’t see any hit the ground near you and there were no shell casings on the ground near where you fell.”

“You don’t think this is suspicious given the stalker that’s been following me?”

“Aramis, there is no stalker. We’ve looked. We’ve searched every clue, looking into any idea we had and found nothing.”

“So, you think it’s all in my head, too.” Aramis stands quickly, ignoring the dizziness that hits. He throws out a hand to catch the back of a chair to steady him.

“I never said that.” d’Artagnan stands and moves forward to try to catch him.

“You don’t have to.” Aramis takes a step back.

“What’s going on in here,” Constance asks, walking into the room. She quickly comes up to stand next to them. “You were supposed to look after him, d’Artagnan, not aggravate him. You’re still dizzy, aren’t you, Aramis?” She turns to look at him.

“I’m fine.”

“Still, you should get checked out at the ER. You know as well as me that head injuries are nothing to trifle with and I don’t want to send you back home for the weekend with a potential head injury. Athos and Porthos would be rather angry with me if I did.”

“I’m fine. Let’s just pack up and go home,” Aramis says, pushing d’Artagnan and Constance aside. He’s still unsteady, but he forces himself to walk confidently.

“No,” d’Artagnan says, putting out a hand to stop Aramis. “You’re going to the ER.”

“I’m fine. I’m just going to go home and rest. That’s all I need.” Aramis pulls away, stumbling this time. He catches himself on a chair, but hisses.

“I’m calling Porthos.”

“No,” Aramis says harshly.

“You need to go to the ER and you’re not listening to us.”

“Stop it, both of you,” Constance says. “Put that phone down, d’Artagnan. This is only going to make the situation worse. Now, why won’t you go to the ER, Aramis? You’d make anyone of the rest of us go if we were having the problems you are.”

“Is it really that much of a secret,” Aramis asks. Tired of trying to keep steady on his feet, he sinks into a nearby chair. He’s not seriously injured, he knows, but he might have a concussion and his body generally aches, which will only grow worse as the hours wear on.

“This was a clear accident. Me and d’Artagnan will tell them that. I doubt it’ll mean anything more than a day or two of sick leave.” Constance wonders if Treville had spoken to Aramis about the number of sick days he’d taken, warning him against taking more or if this was more of Athos and Porthos suspecting all of the accidents were tied to his depression.

“I really just want to go home, Constance.”

“Let’s look at it this way, Aramis. It might be nothing, but going and finding out that it’s nothing is a lot better than it being something serious and having to be rushed to the ER, right?”

Aramis sighs, but nods. “Yeah. Don’t let them know though.”

“They’re going to find out eventually,” d’Artagnan says.

“Then they can find out later. I just don’t want them there right now.”

“Okay,” Constance agrees. “You need help getting up?”

“Probably. Is the rifle stowed away?”

“Yes. You ready to get going?”

“Sure.” Aramis pushes himself up, wobbling when he goes dizzy. d’Artagnan and Constance steady him on either side. Once he’s steady, they make their way to Constance’s car.

“Why don’t you two sit in the back,” she says, steering them to the backseat doors. “That way you can lean to get more comfortable, if you need to. We’ve got a bit of a drive in with traffic, I’m sure.”

Aramis nods, the movement making his stomach queasy. He really just wanted to be sitting down again.

They get him in the backseat. While he buckles himself in, d’Artagnan joins him and Constance takes the driver’s spot. She’s glad that she was the one who drove them out here. d’Artagnan, she knows, is still very uncomfortable with city traffic and Aramis will drive, but when he’s having flare-ups of his mental illnesses, he’s far less likely out of fear of something happening. It never has, but she knows he sometimes has nightmares about having a panic attack while driving.

“You’re sure you don’t want Athos or Porthos there? They can be there by the time we get there,” Constance asks as she starts the car up.

“No. I’ll let them know later. Their reaction won’t be any worse then as compared to now,” Aramis says and closes his eyes to ease the growing queasiness in his stomach and headache. Constance lets it go, exchanging a worried look with d’Artagnan, who simply shrugs his shoulders.


	22. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ER trip goes as well as Aramis expects and the explanation less well than Constance expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

The drive to the ER takes about as long as Constance expects considering it is a Saturday morning at the start of November. The car is quiet on the drive, but she can’t tell if Aramis is simply staying quiet or has fallen asleep. When they arrive, she’s concerned at his paleness and pinched face, clear signs that he’s not doing well, and getting him into the main lobby of the ER is no easy feat, even with her and d’Artagnan. Aramis starts to rouse more, seemingly shaking off some of his sickness to take more of his own weight when they enter the sliding doors. While d’Artagnan takes him to a chair, Constance gets him checked in, and they wait to be called back.

When he is finally called back, the nurse is familiar with him. Constance and d’Artagnan follow to keep him steady as he refuses a wheelchair.

“Aramis, we haven’t seen you here in a few weeks,” she says with a smile.

“Yes, I’ve been trying to be on my best behavior,” Aramis says with barely concealed irritation both from the comment and his headache. It’s Jill. She’s newer but very skilled and friendly.

“Well, it’s good to see less of you. What happened today?”

“Accident at the shooting range.”

“I don’t see any bullet wounds,” she says, looking over him again for any major wounds.

“It was nothing like that,” d’Artagnan says, missing Aramis’ huff. “He thought he was being fired at and jumped for cover. That took him down a hill. He was unconscious for a bit, I think, and has been consistently unsteady since.”

“Oh.” Jill makes some notes on the pad. “Other symptoms?”

Aramis remains silent.

“Nausea, I think,” d’Artagnan says after an awkward moment of silence. “Headache. I think that’s the worst with the head. I know he’s got some scrapes and bruises from the fall, but he was moving around so I’m not sure that there’s much serious outside of the head injury.”

Jill sees Aramis’ frustrations. “I’m going to run through the vitals while we wait for the doctor to come. Why don’t you two wait out in the lobby? I’m sure you’ll be much more comfortable there.”

“We usually wait with him,” d’Artagnan says.

“Yes, I do see that in his notes, but I think Aramis might be comfortable enough to wait here with just me. It won’t be long. The doctor will be here shortly and then he’ll be down getting an x-ray. I’ll keep you both updated.”

“Are you okay with us waiting outside, Aramis,” Constance asks before d’Artagnan can open his mouth again. Like Jill, she saw what was happening.

“Yeah.” Aramis nods, not looking at any of them.

“Okay. Let us know if you need one of us to come back, okay. Come on, d’Artagnan. Let’s give him some space.” Constance gently ushers d’Artagnan out, ignoring his small protest.

“Thanks,” Aramis says once they’re gone.

“It sounds like he cares but he was taking too much control. Why don’t you sit back and let me get your vitals?”

Aramis settles back and lets her work. She cleans and bandages the cuts as they wait for the doctor. The doctor comes and, after a quick check, sends him for an x-ray to check for any damage to his head and ribs.

“The good news,” the doctor begins, “is that there are no breaks.”

“And the bad news?” Aramis is still on his own, having convinced Constance to keep d’Artagnan in the waiting room. All of the movement hasn’t helped his head or assorted other aches and only pride has kept the contents of his stomach in place on one occasion.

“Not as bad as it sounds. A mild concussion, bruises, and scrapes. I’m writing an order for bed rest for the next couple days. That also means less electronics use.”

“What about work?”

“You’re a Musketeer? Definitely no work Monday. You’re still likely to be feeling fuzzy and might have a headache by then, so you’re probably not going to want to be at work Monday anyway. After then, take it as you feel. You may not be able to work a full day Tuesday. Think about it as resting your brain. Like your body, it’s bruised and you need to give it time to recover. The more time you give it, the better off you should be.”

“Okay.” Aramis thinks he understands, but the painkiller hasn’t fully kicked in yet and the pain has a tendency to interrupt his thoughts.

“Do you want your friends to come back,” Jill asks.

“I guess.”

“Give me a minute to go get them,” she tells Aramis and the doctor. Constance and d’Artagnan are right behind her when she returns. They both go right to Aramis’ side.

“You okay,” Constance asks.

“Yeah. Just thought it might help if someone other than me heard what the doctor said.”

“Good idea. It’s probably a bit difficult to pay close attention with your head hurting. So, what’s the verdict?” She looks at the doctor.

“Nothing serious,” the doctors says and continues with much the same explanation as he gave Aramis. Once the treatment plan is settled on and paperwork signed, Aramis is free to go.

The ride home is quick with little traffic as Constance takes shortcuts and back routes to reduce the strain on Aramis with the care jostling. The painkiller is kicking in fully now, leaving him dozing intermittently on the trip. Porthos and Athos are outside to greet them when they arrive.

“What happened,” Porthos asks as he opens Aramis’ door. Constance and d’Artagnan are already out. “You three were supposed to be back a few hours ago.”

“Nothing serious,” Constance says. “But let’s wait to talk about it until we all get inside. And be careful with Aramis. He’s not completely alert. He’s had a painkiller in the ER.”

“Painkiller!”

“ER!” Athos’ tone almost comically matches Porthos’.

“Yes, a painkiller in the ER. Now, be careful or would you like me to help him,” Constance asks.

“We got him,” Porthos says and they did. Aramis is more drowsy than not, leaving the two of them cajoling him into moving. “I’ll just carry him in,” Porthos says, stopping to put an arm under the man’s legs to carry him in bridal style. Aramis, for his part, gives a meek of protest but keeps quiet. Why, Constance isn’t sure.

Once he’s settled on the couch in the den, the questioning begins. All at once until Constance stops them.

“How do you expect him to answer anything with you all talking at once,” she says. “And can’t you see that he’s not feeling well.” She tries to turn their attention to the obvious drowsiness.

Porthos curses. “Do you need anything, ‘Mis?”

“No,” Aramis says.

“We should leave you to rest then. We’ll just be in the living room. Call out or give us a ring if you need something, okay?”

Aramis nods. Athos grabs a blanket to lay over him.

“Might want to leave a bucket,” d’Artagnan says.

“You feeling nauseous,” Porthos asks.

“No, not as long as I’m laying down,” Aramis says quietly.

“Okay. If you start feeling sick, just try to aim for the rug,” Porthos says with a smile. They have a runner down in front of the couch to save on the carpet since the den is used so much.

“Sure.” Aramis closes his eyes and settles under the blanket. They each give him a look before filing out of the den. Porthos closes the door off most of the way and ushers them into the living room where they settle on the couch and loveseat.

“So, what happened?” Porthos, unsurprisingly, is the first to break the silence.

“There was an accident at the range,” d’Artagnan says. Porthos and Athos startle.

“It wasn’t anything serious,” Constance says quickly, glaring at d’Artagnan who at least looks guilty for his words. “He just has a mild concussion, some bruises, and scrapes. The ER was mostly a precaution because he was unsteady and dazed. We thought he lost consciousness for a short time, too.”

“Time off,” Athos asks.

“Just Monday and probably part of Tuesday. The doctor said bed rest and reduced electronics. The standard treatment now.”

“Does he have another day of sick leave?” Athos turns to Porthos.

“Does it matter? He can’t work like this,” Porthos says, his frustration evident.

“If he doesn’t have it, I’ll give him a couple of mine,” Constance says.

“I’ll check with Treville later. He’s not going to be happy about this.”

“It’s not like this was his fault.”

“We’re not saying that it is. We’re worried about him though.”

“What caused this,” Athos asks, wanting to turn the discussion away from an argument. Their inability to help Aramis through this rough patch has been wearing on them all, turning their moods short and making them quick to anger.

“He thought someone fired at him,” d’Artagnan says.

“Did someone?” Athos tries not to grow alarmed.

“No one else was there. The last person left just as I was finishing up talking with my family.”

“You weren’t with them?”

“They were out on the rifle range. I stayed in to talk with my family. We looked for shell casings, for anything that might prove his story. There was nothing.”

“But we both did hear the shots fired,” Constance says.

“It sounded like shots being fired, at least,” d’Artagnan adds.

“You sure it wasn’t someone else on the range,” Porthos asks Constance.

“Absolutely,” Constance says firmly, irritated that she’s now being questioned.

“It might’ve been shots fired by someone you didn’t see,” Athos says.

“A lot of things can sound like shots fired,” Porthos says. “Trust me.”

“Like what,” Constance says, a challenge light in her voice.

“A car backfiring, fireworks.”

“Or blanks even,” Athos suggests.

“You don’t believe us,” Constance questions.

Porthos sighs. “It’s not that, Constance. But to so easily jump to stalker is feeding his delusion, his paranoia.”

“We never did say stalker,” d’Artagnan adds.

“And what does Aramis think?”

“He didn’t say.”

“And it’s better if we don’t let him think that this is just another stalker incident.”

“You want to lie to him. Convince him that he’s seeing things,” Constance says.

“There is no evidence of a stalker, Constance. We’ve looked,” Porthos says. “We need to get this under control and make Aramis see that he needs to get help before it gets him kicked off the task force. He won’t survive that and we all know it.”

“But it doesn’t sound right.”

“It’s for the best, Constance,” d’Artagnan says. “It’s for Aramis’ health. We’re not looking to do him harm.”

“Are you all going to at least look. Just to double check?” Constance turns to Porthos, who seems to be orchestrating this plan.

“Of course,” Porthos says. “It might help to convince him that none of this is real.”

 “I looked, but didn’t find anything,” d’Artagnan says. “And I know no one else was there. I watched everyone leaving as I was talking. Maybe it wasn’t a gun.”

“You guys should still look,” Constance says, watching them consider d’Artagnan’s report. “d’Artagnan might be right, but Aramis deserves your consideration.”

“We’ll look, Constance,” Athos says.

“As long as you seriously consider that he might be right.”

“We will,” d’Artagnan says.

“Good and what about now?”

“What do you mean?” Porthos looks at her.

“What’re you going to do with him now?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Something is going on between you four. He didn’t want you two at the ER. Wouldn’t let me or d’Artagnan let you two know.”

“Oh.” Athos looks away.

“It might’ve just been that he wasn’t up to answering questions,” d’Artagnan says. “We did get shooed away when they were looking at him.”

“That’s because you wouldn’t let him talk, d’Artagnan,” Constance says.

“Look, we’re not going to do anything different with ‘Mis,” Porthos says before an argument can get started. “He’s on bed rest orders and seems perfectly willing to stick to those instructions. So, I think we should take advantage of that because it’s not often we have a compliant Aramis when it comes to his health.”

“Yes,” Athos says, voice a little off. He clears his throat and continues, “This is the perfect time to let him rest and get back to work at his own pace, provided this keeps up. I’ll talk with Treville later about the incident and Aramis’ time off.”

“I’m sure he’ll rest,” Constance says.

“He will for a short time, but you haven’t known him as long as we have,” Porthos says.

“I understand, but he does seem quite willing to look after his health lately. He is trying.”

“Yes, we see that.”

Constance wonders if they really do, but she’s not ready to argue it. They’ll at least give him the benefit of the doubt, so she’s willing to leave it there.

“I should be going. I have quite a bit of reading to tackle this weekend. Keep me updated on him, please, and your search.”

“Of course,” Athos says, standing to see her out.

As she leaves, Constance still feels a certain bit of hesitancy. She doesn’t think Porthos and Athos are mistreating Aramis or anything like that, but they are selling him short, which isn’t fair. He’s dealing with a lot at the moment, but he is trying as far as she can tell.


	23. Finding a New Equilibrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the surface things seem to be back to normal, but what is Aramis hiding and will he find someone he trusts to confide in?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing. And thanks to those who're still reading and commenting.

Aramis does behave, to their surprise, but he does refuse to go to the Treville’s on Monday.

“I think,” Aramis says at the dinner table Sunday night, “that I am perfectly fine staying here tomorrow.” He’s still feeling dizzy and the headache hasn’t quite left, but he thinks he should be fine at home for the day.

“Are you sure,” Porthos asks. “This is really the first time you’ve sat up for a long period since you came back from the range yesterday.”

“True, but I am feeling better and don’t you think that looking after the kids when I have a headache is a bad idea?”

“Sarah would be there for part of the day. She only has one class tomorrow and a short clinical.”

Aramis sighs and tries to hold back his anger. They’ve already had one argument today, about whether he was feeling well enough to lie in the den instead of his bed, and he doesn’t want to have another. And he knows that Porthos is just looking out for his health. They all are. This is just from their care, he tells himself.

“Porthos, please, I would just like to spend tomorrow here. Yes, I am still dizzy and my head aches if I sit up for too long. That being said, it makes much more sense that if I am still bothered by my concussion, I should spend time in quiet rather than where kids and dogs will be running around.”

“They will be quiet,” d’Artagnan adds.

Aramis gives him a quick glare.

“Would you object to us calling to check in and perhaps Sarah stopping by at some point,” Athos asks.

“No,” Aramis says, surprising himself at the lack of a grumble. He doesn’t like the checking, but he’ll take it if he can just be alone.

And so, they relent and proceed to call or text him no less than half a dozen times each. Early afternoon, he thinks about turning his phone off or just not answering the next time the _Ghostbuster’s_ theme interrupts his dozing and TV watching but he doesn’t look forward to their anger when they discover him to be okay and just annoyed. So, he answers their texts and calls with as much happiness as he can manage.

Late afternoon, he decides to put together dinner for them. His head still aches some, but he forces himself to rummage through the pantry to find what he needs to get chili simmering away on the stove. The others will be home in about an hour, which is just enough time to get the chili ready. It doesn’t take him long to get everything in the pot and cooking, but he’s still tired at the end. He makes himself wait at the island, sitting and leaning heavily against the countertop, until the chili starts boiling, which seems to take far longer than it should. It takes no longer than usual, he knows, but he’s glad when it does start to boil so he can put a lid on the pot and turn the fire down to a simmer.

He stretches out on the couch, turning the TV on to _The Cooking Channel_ , happy to see it playing a program he enjoys. Despite this, he quickly falls asleep, the lingering concussion and aches from Saturday having tired him. He wakes to the familiar sound of his brothers walking in the front door, talking about something he can’t make out. He’s pushing himself up into a sitting position, trying to wake up when he hears them call for him. It’s Athos who finds him.

“There you are,” Athos says, leaning against the door frame.

“Yeah, I guess I fell asleep. What time is it?”

“A little after six. How’re you feeling?”

“Fine.” Aramis is quiet for a moment before he starts, jumping to his feet and cursing as he tries to shake off the blanket and run out of the den.

“’Mis?”

“The chili,” Aramis says on his way out. In the kitchen, he finds Porthos checking out the chili, which hasn’t burned or set fire to the kitchen as he feared. Aramis stops suddenly in the middle of the kitchen, catching his balance on the island.

“Tastes good, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. “Thanks for putting something together. We’d been talking about what to do for dinner.”

“Yeah. No problem.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just waking up. I dozed off on the couch. I’ll help you finish getting dinner together.”

Dinner goes smoothly, which Aramis is glad for. There are no comments on him falling asleep and he manages to shake away the lingering tiredness, joining the others in conversation. For whatever reason, they don’t ask anything about his health, mental or physical, for which he’s relieved.

Tuesday, he returns to work, but Athos and Treville make him leave at lunch. He protests to keep up appearances, but with the lights, noise, and activity, his headache has returned and unsettled stomach along with it. The next day, he manages to stay the whole day but does take a few more breaks to stave off the lingering headache. He’s happy for these extra breaks, using one to go upstairs to find Constance. While he wants to see how she’s doing and finds her conversation easier to manage lately than that of his brothers, there is also the matter of Porthos’ birthday next week.

Constance gives him a smile when she sees him, greeting him. “How’re things going?”

“Well, I’ve spent more time working today, than the last couple days and I feel steadier. You?” Aramis gestures to ask if he can lean against the desk next to her. She nods, cleaning away some papers that sit there so he doesn’t wrinkle them.

“Well, November is a busy month for classes, so that’s running me a bit ragged, but George is being quite understanding of it and has let me leave a little early. I’ll have to make up the time later, but I need it now to stay on top of readings and papers.”

Aramis knows George, having been the fourth on the man’s team at various times. He’s one of the older Musketeers, but well deserving of his position as team leader. Even more, George has a brother who served in Iraq in the Army and now has PTSD, so he understands a lot of what Aramis has dealt with, acting as another person, someone outside of his family to talk to when he needed. He hasn’t talked with George in months thanks to their busy schedules, but maybe, he thinks, he should visit the man.

“Everything okay, Aramis,” Constance asks.

“Yeah,” he answers, trying not to start too badly. “That’s good. I’m not surprised he’s working with your schedule. Any troubles with the work or material?”

“No. The work just doesn’t end.”

“It will eventually, but it’ll be replaced by Musketeer work.”

“Hopefully.” Constance knows she still has the exams to pass. Earning the degree is just one component to proving that she’s a good fit for the task force. While the initial acceptance rate is low, getting to cadet level is a good step. Very few who make it to the end are actually denied a position, but it’s not without precedent.

“You’ll make it without a problem. You’ve passed so many of the toughest hurdles already.”

“There is the thesis, Aramis.”

“It’s not as bad as you think and you get more time off of work to focus on it. And that’s not for a bit yet anyway. Right now, we’ve got Porthos’ party to plan.”

Birthdays are not big affairs for them, save for the milestones, like d’Artagnan’s 25th earlier this year. Porthos will be 34 next week, so it’ll be a small get together, but they still want to plan something. It’ll be at their house with the Treville’s and Porthos’ favorite food. The big question to solve is getting Porthos out of the house so they could get things together.

“Why even try to get him to leave,” Constance asks. “He knows what’s coming.”

“It’s tradition and part of the fun is seeing what plan the others concoct to get the one out. Porthos will be very disappointed if we don’t come up with something entertaining.”

“Even though d’Artagnan is a terrible liar and liable to spill the beans right away.”

“Bad acting is all part of the game. We’ll be lucky if Porthos doesn’t start laughing right away.”

“So, plans then?”

“I haven’t been able to think of anything,” Aramis sighs. “And Athos and d’Artagnan have been equally unhelpful. I’m not sure they’ve even thought about it much.”

“Work?”

“Some.”

Constance hesitates to speak. Aramis seems to want to say more and she doesn’t know how much he’s talked to the other, even though things seem to be better amongst them. She knows her concern from the weekend both in Aramis not wanting Athos and Porthos at the ER and in watching Athos, Porthos, and d’Artagnan mostly dismiss Aramis being shot at.

“How’s the investigation to the shooting going,” she asks finally when Aramis doesn’t continue.

“I don’t know.” She sees the sag in his shoulders when he says that. “They haven’t said anything to me. They just ask if I’ve slept, how I’m feeling, if I need a break.”

“Are they looking?”

“They said so. Treville said he was investigating.” There’s uncertainty in Aramis’ voice.

“You don’t think they are?”

“I want to think that, but I know they don’t really believe the whole stalker thing. They think it’s just fallout from Anne.”

“But it doesn’t hurt to look, does it?” Constance doesn’t want to believe that even Treville wouldn’t take it seriously.

“I don’t know, Constance. They might be looking, they might not. We’re not on the best of terms lately.”

“I thought it was getting better. You all were talking much more yesterday.”

“We’re talking, yes, but anyone can talk.”

“You don’t trust them,” she realizes.

“I do,” Aramis says quickly. “I want to. I’m trying because I know they mean well. I know they care but it’s not easy.”

Constance nods, not knowing what else to say.

“I don’t know,” Aramis sighs. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe it really is just in my head. I know I haven’t gotten over Anne and that it messed up the careful balance I had. So, maybe they’re right.”

“Aramis,” Constance starts.

“I should get going before they come up to find out where I’m at. I’ll call you later about plans for the party.” With that, Aramis leaves before she can say anything more. She watches him leave through the stairwell before returning to her work and trying not to worry about Aramis.

Aramis ignores the looks he gets from the others as he heads back to his desk. He doesn’t tell them about where he was nor does he tell them about his minor accident in the stairwell, his foot slipping from the second to last step, causing him to nearly land butt first on the concrete steps. He doesn’t tell them because this will be more proof that he needs rest as they’ve spent the last couple days trying to tell him. He’s fine, though. It’s difficult to sleep still, but he’s managing. He’s moving. And that’s enough for him.

But the longer he sits there, trying to work, the more he thinks, it’s not. It’s not enough. Something is broken between them and he can’t continue without finding a way to fix it. He won’t go into combat, so to speak, with men he doesn’t trust. Not again. He won’t survive it again.

He waits until evening to talk with them, forcing himself to focus on his work even if it’s not his best effort. Still, the others don’t question it. They don’t prompt him into speaking on the way home, but it doesn’t disappoint him like it might’ve and he wonders if maybe it’s time to leave. Has he overstayed his welcome? Worn out their kindness?

But he doesn’t want to leave.

So, he waits until dinner is done or nearly done. No one’s made a move yet to clear the table and he blurts out his question before he can think to filter it.

“Do you want me here still?” He’s not loud in his question, but the tone and question itself make them stop and look at him.

“What,” Porthos asks, for which Athos is glad because he wanted to, but the question is frozen on his tongue.

“Do you trust me?”

“No, that wasn’t your question. ‘Mis, do you really think we don’t want you here?”

“You don’t trust me, what I see. You’ve just been humoring me and the second you can, you foist me off as a babysitter to the Treville’s.”

“You couldn’t stay here yourself when you were recovering. We’ve tried that before and you just got worse on your own. You weren’t there as a babysitter. They were making sure you okay. Giving you company. None of us had the days to take off, or we would’ve.”

“I know because you used them all up earlier this year when I couldn’t stop blubbering about Anne.” Aramis takes a shaky breath. “You know what, let’s forget it. d’Artagnan, will you help me with the dishes? Porthos, you and Athos find a movie. We’ll be there soon.” Aramis stands, taking his plate in hand and reaching for another dish to take when Porthos reaches out to stop him.

“Sit down, ‘Mis,” Porthos says quietly. Surprised, Aramis does, setting the plates aside. Off to the corner, he sees d’Artagnan still sitting, looking back and forth, confused about what he’s supposed to do.

“It’s fine, Porthos. I shouldn’t’ve brought anything up,” Aramis says quietly.

“No, I’m glad you did because we’ve been worried about you.”

“About me losing it?” Aramis tries not to sound bitter.

“No,” Athos says. “About you slipping deeper into depression, your PTSD.”

“You all think this stalker is just in my head. That I’m seeing him. It’s not like Williams. This stalker isn’t a figment of my fucked up mind. I know he’s real. I know it.”

“How do you explain the lack of evidence? Or do you not trust us to investigate properly,” Porthos asks.

Aramis hesitates because he’s not sure. He doesn’t trust them like he used to, but he knows they wouldn’t let him be put in danger and the Musketeers are one of the top investigative forces in the state.

“’Mis?” That’s d’Artagnan and Aramis can’t take the sadness in his face.

“I don’t know. I know you’re not going to let me be in danger. But, I know what I’ve seen,” Aramis says.

“And the lack of evidence?” Porthos pushes again.

“Maybe they’re just really good.” Even as Aramis says that he knows what a weak argument it is. He sighs and sinks back against his chair. “I don’t know. Maybe I really am losing it.”

“You’re not losing it. You’re just crashing a little harder than you usually do.”

“I hate this.” Aramis sets his head down on the table on his folded arms.

“I know,” Athos says quietly, coming over to rub a hand on Aramis’ back. Other than that, there’s silence and Aramis images there’s a silent conversation going on between them. He could disrupt it by sitting up, but he can’t think of a good reason to.

Moments later there’s movement. Porthos and d’Artagnan.

“Let’s go see what flavors the custard shop has today,” Porthos says. Aramis knows from the distance of his voice that he’s already grabbing his keys and d’Artagnan must not be far behind. The door opens and closes before he looks up.

“Ice cream in November? It’s forty degrees,” Aramis says.

“It’s Porthos. Subzero temperatures wouldn’t diminish his love for ice cream. We’ve both seen it,” Athos says, a light smile lightening up his features.

“But both of them? I thought we’d be going somewhere or they’d stay or…”

“Well, I doubt either of us are mentally prepared for seeing other people tonight and as much as Porthos and d’Artagnan want to help, they do more to put their feet in their mouths at times.”

Aramis nods. Porthos he knows cares, but he cares so much sometimes that care comes out to be harmful. And d’Artagnan. The young man is aware of the household he entered and has grown much more comfortable in dealing with the many quirks, but he’s far too unsure of his own abilities often times to be helpful. In the end, it’s Athos and Aramis who are each other’s best help, but only if they can set aside their own personal sufferings long enough to see it.

He knows that Athos is suffering and is forcing himself to be with it enough to help him. And that makes Aramis feel guilty.

“Athos, you don’t need to. I’ll deal with this on my own.”

“And how’s that been going the last few weeks?”

“Not the worst.”

“And not the best, right?”

“So, what? I know you’re barely holding it together right now, Athos, and you shouldn’t have to just to help me.”

“You’re my friend, Aramis. What wouldn’t I do to help you?”

“So, what you’re going to help me through this depression?”

“No, you’re going to help me get things cleaned up because I still can’t get that damn dishwasher loaded correctly and we can talk while we work.”

“About what?”

“Whatever. Porthos’ birthday, d’Artagnan giving relationship advice to his little sister. Grab the plates and let’s get this done before Porthos and d’Artagnan are back, wondering what we’ve done while they were gone.”

They start taking plates and dishes to the kitchen and it’s on the third trip that Aramis finally speaks.

“Did you hear the Tim made the basketball team?”

“He texted me that he did. I think he’s hoping we’ll come to some of his games.”

“As if we’d miss them. We’re his uncles. We have to be there to cheer him and his team on.”

There’s silence again save for the clinking and clattering of dishes as they finish clearing the table and putting away the few leftovers there were, which was surprising because d’Artagnan usually ensured there was hardly even a crumb left.

“Has Meg talked to you about going to the German market this year,” Aramis asks as he starts loading the dishwasher.

“No, you know that it’s more of a tradition the kids have with you. She thinks she’s old enough?”

“She has since she was three and realized where I was taking Ben and Tim. She texted me to ask if we were going this year.” Aramis was initially surprised to see the text from Sarah until he opened it to see it was from Meg. Both Meg and Ben are too young for cell phones, but Sarah and Treville let them use their phones, with supervision, to text or call family. They’re not allowed to use Tim’s phone, which the teen had only recently received.

“What are you thinking?” Athos knows that Ben and Tim will want to go, but he’s not sure if Aramis is up for it this year. He’s not as bad off as that first year, but none of them want a repeat of that attempt to visit the market. Athos didn’t get to see more than the tents before he and Porthos had to chase down Aramis, who bolted at the sight of the crowds.

Aramis shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. I know they’ll want to go. It’s up to the Captain and Sarah if Meg is old enough.”

“One of us could always come along, if you want,” Athos suggests. “If Meg is allowed, three kids is a lot to look after, even if they’re well behaved.”

“Yeah. I suppose. Well, we’ll see what they say. I’ll tell her to ask her parents. We’re still a month off from then. I wouldn’t even think about taking them until the second or third week. Let everyone get it out of their systems and see if we can’t catch the market on a slow day.” Aramis knows he’s rambling, but the thought of entering the crowded square is making his heart race as well as his thoughts.

“Deep breaths, ‘Mis. It’s just you and me here.” Athos settles the last of the dishes in the dishwasher and finishes preparing it to wash before closing the door. He leans against the counter next to Aramis, putting a hand on his back to try to calm him.

“I…I’m fine.” Aramis swallows heavily. He sees the doubtful look Athos gives him. “I am,” he tries more confidently but can’t convince himself. He curses. “I’m a mess. A complete mess and you all are always having to pick it up.” He sinks down to sit on the floor, knees bent. Athos joins him.

“We pick up nothing, Aramis. You’ve done it all yourself. We’re just here to help.”

“I just wish this would stop happening.”

“I know.”

Of course, Aramis knows this, Athos is the one person amongst his family who truly does understand this frustration. On the one hand, that thought comforts him because he’s not alone, but he also feels terrible for being so selfish.

“Stop it, ‘Mis. I can see the wheels turning. You and I both know that our own minds are our worst enemies in this situation.”

Aramis nods and leans his head against the cabinet. “I’m not sure I can do this again, Athos. I don’t know that I can make it out again.”

“Right now, I’m sure that seems the case.” Athos knows as often as he’s been depressed, even though he knows he’ll come back out of it if he takes care of himself, there is never a light at the end of that proverbial tunnel. “What do you need, Aramis? From us? From me? Tell me what I can do.”

Aramis is quiet for a while and Athos lets him sit because he can tell that Aramis isn’t sinking in self-pity. He’s not biting at his lips, his face isn’t growing duller, he’s not vacant in the eyes. He’s just thinking.

“Trust. That’s what I need. I know that you three have looked because however you feel about the stalker, you would never leave me in danger. So, you’d check just to be sure. I know that.”

Athos isn’t sure if Aramis repeats that last part to reassuring him or to convince himself of the fact.

“We do trust you, Aramis. I’m sorry that the way we’ve acted has made you feel as though we don’t, but we do trust you. I trust you.”

Aramis nods. “And the stalker?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s no evidence to support it, but I do believe that you think you have a stalker.”

“But it’s all in my head, right?”

“I wish it was simple, Aramis. I wish that he was real because then we could find him and end this for you, but no I don’t believe there is one. That doesn’t mean that I don’t trust you. This is a trick played by your mind. Nothing more than that.”

“Somehow that doesn’t comfort me as it should.”

“The trust bit or being in your mind?”

“In my mind.” Aramis sighs. “I understand what you’re saying. I know that no evidence has been found, but I can’t help what I know. What I’ve seen, Athos. I can’t help but believe that there is someone out to get me.”

“Okay.”

“What? Just okay?”

“I’m not sure what else to say, ‘Mis. I know you believe what you do, but I know there is no evidence. I’m not sure what I more I could say to convince you.”

“You’re probably right. I’ve always been stubborn.”

“It’s that stubbornness that’s kept you alive, even during your darkest days.” Athos pauses for a moment. “There is something you can do for me, ‘Mis.”

“Hmm?” Aramis turns his head to look at Athos.

“Either call Lemay or work to find a psychiatrist. You can’t let this keep going. I can’t watch you sink as low as you have in the past.”

“And it’s not fair to Porthos or d’Artagnan to deal with two of us flailing.”

Athos gives him a surprised look. “I didn’t think…”

“That I noticed? I have. Just because I’m not talking doesn’t mean I’m not watching or listening. You can talk to me, Athos.”

Athos raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe I’m not the best right now, but if you’re in a pinch, the door’s open.”

“Thank you. And the psychiatrist?”

“I’ll start looking and give Lemay a call.”

“Good. Now, let’s get off the cold floor and find something to watch before d’Artagnan comes back and wants to watch one of his Arrowverse shows.”

“I thought you were liking them.” They both get to their feet. Before they leave, Athos starts the dishwasher.

“They’re okay, but I’d really rather watch something else.”


	24. A Birthday Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Porthos' birthday and Aramis tries to keep himself together so his friend can enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait between posting. The past several weeks I've been busy with a number of writing projects, the most important of which, my dissertation, is demanding a lot of my attention lately as I have to finish the first draft this summer. So, I can't guarantee it won't happen again (school is, unfortunately, more important than fan fiction) I will try to keep up on chapters so it doesn't.
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

The rest of the week and next week go surprisingly well. It may help that their spare moments seem to be spent going through crazy plan after crazy plan of how to get Porthos out of the house on Friday. For Aramis, the plans are a welcome distraction. On top of dealing with his current recurring mental health issues, Saturday is Veteran’s Day, which will be observed federally on Friday giving them a holiday with only a couple teams on duty for emergency calls. It’s not the big anniversary of the massacre, but it’s only been six years. Even with the party, he knows he’s going to be just short of a mess. They’ll understand, but he doesn’t like it. Not for Porthos, whose birthday is often marred by him.

The first step, he tells himself the weekend before, is to stop thinking about them and start focusing on the party. He’s sure that’s what Lemay would’ve said if he could’ve reached him. There hadn’t even been an option to leave a voicemail.

So, he spends his week planning and trying to be happy. He teases d’Artagnan when he tells the young man his plans won’t work and forbids Porthos from speaking with d’Artagnan alone once their plan is set. It’s their usual game. Each of them, save Athos, pokes and prods to try to figure out the surprise. Athos has started in the last couple years, but it’s not with the same enthusiasm. In sum, Aramis tries hard to be the old Aramis, the one they all remember and love.  

Porthos doesn’t know what happened when he and d’Artagnan left for ice cream that one evening, but something in the conversation Athos and Aramis had seems to have helped Aramis. The man is more his old self than he has been in months. He’d been concerned with Veteran’s Day coming up and Aramis dealing with depression again what might happen, but he seems to be doing fine.

Unfortunately, however, d’Artagnan is never left alone this week for him to find out the surprise. He’s pretty sure by the end of the week the young man has found the whole exercise to be the most irritating thing he’s ever gone through. Porthos is a patient man though and, in the end, he doesn’t care about the surprise. He never has. He knows this week is tough for Aramis, so he goes to whatever lengths to find out the surprise that it takes to put a smile on the man’s face and earn at least one exasperated sigh a day.

Still, on Friday, when Aramis suggests running some errands he continues his charade because he needs Aramis not to think about tomorrow. Not for him, but for Aramis. So, he hides his smirk when Aramis takes the keys, insisting he will drive even though Aramis rarely drives anymore. They go to the bookstore, woodworking shop, and drive an hour to an ice cream place they rarely go to. More important for Porthos, though, they talk. It’s nothing serious, but that’s okay. Porthos already knows his birthday wish: a couple peaceful days for one of his closest friends.

“What time is Tim’s game tonight,” Porthos asks as they sit at a table to enjoy their ice cream.

“Seven. He’s quite excited about it according to Sarah and the Captain, even though he’s not starting. The coach, apparently, said that everyone would get a chance to play to get the experience of being on court.”

“It is only his second year of team play. Are you going to practice with him?”

“If I have the time. I should be able to manage an hour or two a week. Our first session is Saturday. He asked if he could bring a friend with him.” Aramis played on the JV team in high school and intramurals in college.

“Playing at the Y again?”

“It worked well last year and with this cold weather, it’s not going to be fun to practice outside.”

“Have Meg or Ben tried to tag along?”

“No, they both have gymnastics tomorrow.”

“That’s right. I think Meg was saying something last weekend about watching Ben at his mock meet.” Meg is doing more of a tumbling class than real gymnastics and no one’s too sure how long she’ll stick with it. The only requirement is that she completes the tumbling course, unless she really hates it. The kids are allowed one extracurricular at the Y at a time and Meg already has her eyes on karate when she’s done with tumbling.

“I think she wishes she could jump to his level,” Aramis comments as he finishes his ice cream. He hadn’t gotten a lot not feeling too hungry. As much as he knows Porthos is trying to distract him, it’s only working to a point.

“You think she’s going to stick with the tumbling?”

“She might. Sarah and the Captain had a talk with her last week about if she really wanted to quit or was just frustrated with not being able to do what Ben’s doing and she seems willing to stay with it for a little longer.”

“If nothing else it’s getting out some of that extra energy,” Porthos says with a chuckle.

“I know. I don’t know how she gets all of that energy. Ben and Tim are so quiet.”

“Maybe it’s that April Fool’s birthday that has something to do with it.”

“Maybe.”

There’s a lull in the conversation where Aramis fiddles with the empty cup of ice cream.

“Is Maria coming up for Thanksgiving,” Porthos asks. Last year they’d met Maria, Aramis’ youngest sister, and they’d all hoped that she and her family might be able to come up for Thanksgiving. They know so little of Aramis’ family and Aramis has seen little of them in more than five years.

“I don’t think so. Olivia doesn’t have a long break and she missed a couple weeks earlier when she was sick, so Maria and Matt are hesitant to take her out for any more time. She’s been struggling to keep up, Maria said.”

“Maybe for Christmas then?”

“Maybe.” Aramis sighs. “What about your family? Any of them coming up for the holidays?”  

“Probably not. My brother can’t get off work and mom can’t make the drive on her own, not anymore.”

“Maybe you should see about getting some time off. It’s only a few hours’ drive.”

“Maybe at Christmas. We’re working Thanksgiving anyway.”

“True. You about ready to go?”

“Everything okay,” Porthos asks.

“Yeah,” Aramis says quickly.

“Hey, how’ve things been going?”

“Good, Porthos.” Aramis’ voice is tense.

Porthos opts to finish his ice cream in silence, tossing out the cup when he’s done. Aramis is already at the door waiting on him, barely concealing irritation.

“Aramis,” Porthos begins once they’re in the car, breaking the tense silence, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you. I’m worried though. I know that this is a rough time for you, probably worse this year with everything else going on.”

Aramis has the keys in the ignition but doesn’t turn them. “I know, Porthos. I know you mean well and that you’re concerned. I’ve…” Aramis pauses, taking a breath. “I’ve been trying this week to focus on other things. Keep it in perspective. The Navy and massacre aren’t my lives, just a part of my life.”

“You been talking with Lemay? That’s a good attitude to take.”

“Yes, I thought it was,” Aramis answers.

“Good. I’m glad you’re getting help. I wish we’d known, but if you’ve been in touch with Lemay, then I’m happy for you.”

Aramis pauses, conflicted. While he’s glad that this misunderstanding will get the others to leave him alone, he doesn’t like lying to Porthos and the others.

“’Mis?”

“Sorry, just thinking. Anywhere you’d like to go?”

“You don’t have the rest of this afternoon planned out?”

“I’m not taking d’Artagnan’s suggestion of going to the aquarium. It’s far too late to go and it’ll be crowded by the time we get there.”

“How about the cemetery at Fort Sheridan? I know you like to go around Veteran’s Day and there’ll probably be some event there tomorrow. Today would be a better day for you to go.”

“I had planned to go later. We never go on your birthday.”

“Are you going to have time this weekend? Besides, isn’t it at least a little up to me how I choose to spend my birthday?”

“If you want to, we can go.”

“I’m not going to force you, Aramis. We can drive around until we’re supposed to head back or we can go to the cemetery. It’s up to you, but I don’t mind going.”

“Okay.”

Porthos isn’t sure what that means and he thinks that Aramis isn’t sure either, but Aramis does get the car going and start the drive back home. It’s only when Aramis turns south that Porthos realizes he’s decided to go to the cemetery after all. Porthos is happy about this because he worries about Aramis going alone as it appeared the man was planning to do. It’s not that Aramis can’t take care of himself, he knows. But he knows that Aramis isn’t in the best state of mind right now. He’s more pulled together this last week, but it can’t, won’t last.

He remains quiet as Aramis drives to the cemetery and parks. They’ve been here before as it’s the closest military cemetery. They walk a familiar path, bundling their jackets against the cold wind. There’s no one Aramis knows buried here, but it has helped him to have a place to go to honor his friends who’ve died. They make a slow circuit of the grave, Porthos following a few steps behind and to the side of Aramis to give him space. Then they finally settle on a bench.

“I talked with Athos last week about us.” Aramis breaks the growing tense silence.

“I thought as much. d’Artagnan seemed rather puzzled when we left.”

“Did Athos tell you any of what we talked about?”

“No, but then I didn’t ask. I figured if there was something we needed to talk about, you two would’ve said something.”

“I didn’t think those sorts of boundaries still existed between us.”

“You think we would talk about you, share private conversations behind your back?”

“You’ve made a number of decisions for me without my opinion the last couple months. So, yeah, I don’t see it as out of the question.”

Porthos pauses. “We’ve only done what we thought was needed, but I can see where you’re coming from.”

“I know,” Aramis says, which Porthos knows is far from understanding.

“So, what’d you two talk about?”

“Trust.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“So, you see my point?”

“Yes and no. I know that we’ve done some things that have hurt your trust in us, but I would hope you could understand that we only acted because we were worried.”

“I may be able to understand it on some level, but it doesn’t make me happy. I know that you won’t let me be in any sort of danger, but I don’t like the methods. We’ve had a long-standing agreement to talk about things like this before taking action, not doing something that involves another without discussing it with them.”

“There was no time, Aramis.”

“Bullshit. There was time. You guys just didn’t trust me to make the smart decision. You think I’m too focused on this stalker to make a logical choice.”

“You didn’t see yourself, ‘Mis. Those couple months every time we turned around it seemed you were doing worse, if not mentally then physically. Something had to be done.”

“I didn’t see myself?” Aramis scoffs. “I lived it, Porthos. How do you think I felt?” Aramis stands. “Let’s go back home. You have a party to get to.”

“I’m not leaving until we sort this out. You wanted to talk about trust, so let’s talk.” Porthos stands to emphasize his point.

“You’re not seeing my perspective.” Aramis turns to stand in front of Porthos. “What’s the point in talking about this anymore?”

“Because you’re not comfortable with us and I don’t like that. I don’t like that we’ve made you feel like you can’t trust us.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Porthos. It’s that you don’t trust me. I know that you guys won’t leave me be in real danger, but you don’t trust me to make decisions.”

“’Mis.” Porthos can’t help feeling at a loss over what to say.

“The thing is, Porthos, I don’t want to leave. But I’m not going to stay in a position where trust is in question. Not again.”

“You’re leaving?” Porthos’ stomach drops at the thought. Surely, if this had been the conversation he had with Athos something would’ve been said sooner, unless they were waiting until after his birthday.

“I don’t want to, Porthos. We have to find a way to trust because I don’t want to leave.”

“What do you want me to do then? I do trust you, Aramis, but I’m not going to stop doing things to keep you safe.”

“I know but talk to me before you do anything. I might surprise you all in how willing I am to listen to reason and do the sensible thing.”

“Talk? I can do that, easily.”

“Good.”

“That’s it? Sounds too easy.”

“It’s a start, Porthos. Trust didn’t come easily between all of us and it’s not going to come back easily, but if you can talk to me about things before you make a decision and let me have a voice in that decision, then it’s a step in the right direction.”

“Okay, but I’m still going to do what I have to keep you safe, just like I would for the others.”

“You ready to go now?” Aramis isn’t quite sure that things are resolved but he’s done dealing with it for now. Talking about this exhausts him mentally and he wants to be able to enjoy the party and Tim’s game tonight.

“Are you?” Porthos doesn’t want to make Aramis leave before he’s ready.

“Yeah. Besides, I think it’s time we get to back home. There’s a surprise waiting for you.”

“Yeah, a party. You already told me that,” Porthos says with a smile as he follows Aramis back to the car.

“As if it was a surprise. We do the same thing each year.”

“The surprise really is what crazy plan you three concoct to get the other one out of the house. How much input did d’Artagnan have this time?”

“Other than the aquarium?”

“Other than the aquarium.”

“Well, to be honest, most of his ideas were turned down because they were just too out there. He might be a promising tactician on the task force but give him a simple birthday party to plan and he thinks far too much.”

“That why he’s at home and you’re doing the driving?”

“That and I didn’t think you’d want to spend part of your special day waiting for Athos to get a speeding ticket written out.”

“He’s gotten better.”

“No, he hasn’t. He just doesn’t drive enough to get caught.” Aramis glances at his phone after it buzzes. “Looks like we’re good to head back. Everything’s set up.”

“Excellent,” Porthos says, climbing into the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case there's confusion, the Y they refer to is the YMCA, which, at least where I live, has always been shortened to Y when referring to it.


	25. Not Again Aramis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things seem to be going fine until something happens on their stakeout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

Porthos’ party goes well and Tim’s team wins their game, leading Treville to taking everyone out for late night ice cream. Basketball practice goes well the next day as does everything else for nearly the next week, which puts Aramis on edge. He’s not sure if it does the others, but it all seems rather unnatural and he’s waiting for the bottom to fall out.

Thursday night finds him and d’Artagnan sitting in an unmarked Musketeer car on a stakeout for the Whitmore case. Porthos and Athos are a few blocks over as backup.

“Do you have any snacks,” d’Artagnan asks about an hour into their watch. He tries to keep the whine out of his voice, but stakeouts have never been his strong suit. Sitting and watching for hours on end doesn’t suit his farm boy upbringing, more accustomed to constant movement from dawn to dusk. Even in the office more often than not he irritates the others, especially Athos, with his fidgetiness.

“We have several hours left to go, d’Artagnan,” Aramis says, smiling.

“I know. I don’t see how you can sit still for so long. It’s more of an Athos thing.”

“Not so much. Try Porthos. He has patience like you wouldn’t believe. As for me, I always bring snacks because it helps in passing the time.” Aramis grabs his backpack from the backseat, unzips it, and starts pulling out a variety of snacks. “I have everything from the classic powdered donuts to the unusual dark chocolate covered almonds. And water of course.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Aramis.” d’Artagnan takes the container of donuts and grabs one to take a big bite out of it. They’re homemade.

“Just take this lesson from me, don’t overdo it. We’re here for the long haul, you don’t want to be in a food coma on stakeout duty.”

“Glad you remember that lesson,” Athos says wryly through their earbuds. “While you two are enjoying your feast, please make sure to key your eyes up and on the lookout.”

“Before you get too jealous, there’s a snack pack for you two as well. Look for a green backpack in the back. Constance should’ve stuck it somewhere there.”

There’s silence on the other line and a sigh from Athos, then Porthos says, “Thanks, ‘Mis. This’ll help us get through the night.”

“Alright, enough chatter,” Athos says. “Keep in mind your job everyone. And thanks, ‘Mis, for the snacks.”

They all settle into their roles, snacking and occasionally talking but nothing shows up until about two in the morning when d’Artagnan sees Aramis sit up straight, his breathing slower as he focuses.

“What’s out there,” d’Artagnan asks, looking in the same direction Aramis is, but he can’t spot anything out of the ordinary.

“There was something out there.” Aramis doesn’t take his eyes off the spot.

“Something case related,” Athos asks over the radio.

“I’m not sure.”

“You see anything, d’Artagnan,” Porthos asks.

“No, but I wasn’t looking in that direction at the time.”

“Well, keep an eye out then. If this is case related, it might be a big break for us,” Athos says.

And so they do. Well, d’Artagnan does his best but such focus for an hour is difficult. So, it’s in the one moment he glances away that he hears Aramis tell him to wait there and turns to find the driver’s seat empty and Aramis moving away from them, a shadow in the unlit areas of the street.

“What’s going on, d’Artagnan,” Athos asks as d’Artagnan gets out of the car.

“I don’t know. I don’t see anything.” d’Artagnan curses at the lack of a clue as well as Aramis’ disappearance. “I lost track of Aramis. I’m going after him.”

“No, stay put,” Athos says firmly.

“What direction,” Porthos asks.

“South, towards the river. He might need help, Athos,” d’Artagnan says.

“I’ll go after him. You stay put,” Athos says. “Aramis,” he calls out firmly over the radio. There’s no answer, so Athos tries a couple more times but gets no answer.

“Either he’s just not answering or he’s taken out the earpiece,” Porthos says with a sigh.

“It’s here on the ground,” d’Artagnan says. Athos and Porthos curse. “Should we let Treville know?”

“Not yet. We don’t know what’s going on and I’d rather not alert him unnecessarily. d’Artagnan, you keep up the search there. Keep watching for our target and let us know if you spot Aramis.”

“And Aramis?”

“I’ll go out in search of our wayward brother. Hopefully, nothing’s happened but stay on alert, just in case I need you. South, you said?”

“Yeah. Straight past the nearest intersection. Beyond that, it was too dark to see.”

“Okay.” Athos tries to sound positive as he gets out of the van.

“You want me to go,” Porthos asks. “I know some of these roads better than you.”

“No, I have better night vision than you. Besides, you tracked him down the last time he bolted.”

“Right,” Porthos sighs.

“But he does this one more time and we’re going to have to have a serious conversation about teamwork.”

“I’ll be right with you. Good luck and radio if you need help.”

“Thanks.” With that, Athos closes the door and takes off in the direction of the stakeout car where he spots the familiar outline of d’Artagnan. At least the young man has stayed put. Now, to find their fourth, Athos thinks as he pushes on. He doesn’t quite run, nor does he walk. The night is quiet save for the movement of cars and occasional distant honks. It lets him follow his ears because he is sure that Aramis didn’t keep running straight. From there he hears a clashing of metal and wood as though someone ran into them, he imagines. The noise coming from his left, he takes off in that direction. Though he draws his gun and releases the safety, he keeps his finger from the trigger. It has been several months since the task force's last accidental shooting and Athos isn’t going to break that streak. His gut tells him, too, that there’s no danger lurking ahead of him, but his training makes him be prepared for what might be in the darkness.

More noise, more a quiet rustling than loud clanging from before, leads him toward an alley, which though dimly lit at the start, disappears into darkness. He can’t see anything more than a metal dumpster and litter, but he knows that there must be more beyond. Then, as he’s debating whether to call out or risk his flashlight to see, he hears ragged, wheezy breathing.

“’Mis,” he says quietly in realization. “Aramis, is that you,” he calls out already making his way down the alley, flashlight out. He sees a hand go up and hears a raspy voice but can’t make out what is said. He turns his flashlight on and carefully, but quickly makes his way down the alley to where Aramis sits, slumped against the wall behind a stack of pallets and assorted trash. The younger man is clearly struggling to breathe and doesn’t give more than a glance up at Athos’ arrival. But Athos doesn’t need Aramis to speak to know what’s happening. Asthma, again. It’s worse this year, he notes, and it might be enough that Aramis needs to see Frice again for adjustments to his treatment. It might even mean desk duty until he gets it under control again.

“Do you have your inhaler,” Athos asks, leaning down to Aramis’ side. Aramis lift his hand, red inhaler in hand. “And you’ve used it?”

“O… On…” Aramis tries to get the word out.

“And you haven’t been able to get another good breath to take another, have you,” Athos says more to himself. This is not the first time this has happened to Aramis, but it has been a while. He takes the inhaler from Aramis’ hand and waits a few seconds for a decent intake and presses the canister so the medication goes into Aramis’ mouth. How much he takes in, Athos doesn’t know, but hopefully, some does to start to help him. He rubs circles on Aramis’ back with his hand as the man struggles to breathe and calls Porthos.

“You find him,” Porthos asks in lieu of a greeting.

“Yeah. I need you to call an ambulance to our location. He’s in the middle of a bad asthma attack.”

“Your GPS on?”

“Yeah. I figure you’ll be able to get the call in quicker than me.”

“You want me to call off the stakeout?”

“No, this might be our only chance to get a lead. I’ll go with Aramis to the ER.”

“Okay. Keep us updated.” Porthos ends the call and puts the call in. Athos is right. Using the police frequencies, he’s able to bypass the operator that Athos would’ve received and send an ambulance to them, cutting off at least a few minutes. He lets d’Artagnan know what’s going on and calls for back up because he doesn’t like being down to two men. He hears the ambulance first, then catches sight of the lights as it speeds toward Athos and Aramis. He sends a quick text to Athos to let him know the ambulance is coming.

It will be a familiar scene and he imagines it playing out as the sirens turn off. The EMTs will climb out, moving quickly with their kits to Aramis and Athos. And Athos will start explaining about the PTSD right away in carefully crafted phrases that they’ve developed over the last six years so that paramedics and Aramis alike won’t panic during the interaction. Seven times out of ten it works and Porthos hopes that this is not one of the three. For his optimism, Porthos imagines it works and the EMTs step in to talk Aramis through the procedures, the touches, and the equipment. When he’s being loaded up, quickly because he’s still very much struggling to catch a breath even as medication is being given and an oxygen mask is firmly placed over his mouth and nose, Athos follows, climbing in without question behind the EMT, sitting beside Aramis, holding his hand if possible.

They’ve all had their share of ambulance rides and ER visits, but Aramis’ background does lead him to more than them. It’s why he knows that Athos will text once Aramis is settled in the ER but not before unless it’s critical. That if things are dire or if Aramis won’t settle, reinforcements in the name of the Captain will be called in because out of all of them, he is the one man who Aramis will trust with his dying breath. It’s an unshakeable faith in their Musketeer Captain and just his presence is often enough to calm the younger man.

Porthos hopes they won’t have to call him in because as much as Treville loves and treats Aramis as a son, it is just those feelings that have him close to benching Aramis until he can get things sorted. Athos and Porthos have gone to bat for Aramis while trying to pull him together.

By the time he gets the all-clear text from Athos, additional help has arrived for them to continue their stakeout. Aramis’ oxygen numbers are still low, but the crisis point has passed. He lets d’Artagnan know and settles into his back up duties with a lighter heart.

Over in their usual ER, which Athos, fortunately, didn’t have to ask to go to because this team was familiar with them, he sits beside Aramis, who is semi-awake. He’s sore from the severe attack and there’s still some straining for a breath, but he’s much improved from when he found him in the alley.

After a text to Porthos to explain what’s happened, Athos settles into waiting. Aramis hadn’t yet explained what happened that made him run. d’Artagnan might be able to shed some light on the situation, but their brief conversation earlier doesn’t offer much hope for that. d’Artagnan appeared to be just as clueless as the rest of them.

As the morning wears on, Aramis continues to improve. It’s about 3 am when Porthos calls.

“We’re finishing up for the night,” Porthos says. “You need anything before we stop by?”

“Coffee. And bring Aramis’ change of clothes from the station. His are a little dirty.” Athos doesn’t try to hide the sigh.

“Coffee and clothes. We should be no more than an hour.” The call ends from Porthos’ side, leaving Athos to sit patiently by Aramis once more.

“Who was that,” Aramis asks, tiredness still lingering in his voice.  

“Porthos,” Athos says, putting his phone away. “He and d’Artagnan will be coming by soon.”

“What time is it?” Aramis pushes off the oxygen mask to speak more clearly.

“Just before three. How’re you feeling?”

“Sore and tired, but alive. Thanks for finding me.” Aramis shifts to find a more comfortable spot.

“I wasn’t sure I was going to,” Athos says. “With no radio, no clue where you were going, and as dark as it was, I’m surprised that I did.”

“But you did.”

“It was a stroke of luck.” Athos can’t keep the frustration from his voice. “I only found you because you made a racket presumably when you fell in that alley ‘cause you couldn’t keep your feet anymore.”

“I think I remember falling. It’s kind of a blur, though.”

“Can you remember what the hell you were doing running off without much of a warning or word to us?” Athos stands, taking a step closer to the bed.

“Athos?” Aramis, tired though he is, picks up on the anger in Athos’ voice.

“What were you thinking, Aramis? Running off without backup. You could’ve been killed because we didn’t know where to find you to help you.”

“I… saw something. I wasn’t th…thinking.”

“That much is clear. What did you see? Was it at least case related this time?”

Aramis pauses at the heat in Athos’ words, the accusation. He knows his track record and his last time running from Porthos because he saw the man who helped them after the car accident. In all of his searching, he still doesn’t have a name, but he has made progress.

“It was about your stalker, wasn’t it? Damn it, Aramis.”

“It wasn’t… that, Athos.” Aramis raises himself up off the bed by his elbows, coughing increasing.

“You’re lying, Aramis. This stupid obsession of yours could’ve gotten you killed this time. If not from running into the criminal we’re tracking then from this latest asthma attack.”

“Ath…”

Neither of them notices the beeping increasing in the background until a nurse comes in.

“Gentlemen,” he says loudly, coming to stand at the side of the bed opposite of Athos. His presence there is enough to stop them, but the coughing and machine beeping continues. “Aramis, you need to take steady breaths.” He replaces the oxygen mask, checking his vitals.

“Steady breaths, ‘Mis,” Athos says, reaching to take a hold of Aramis’ hand. Panicked and desperate for an easy breath, Aramis startles, pulling his hand away as his breathing hitches painfully.

“Athos,” the nurse begins as he rests a comforting hand on Aramis’ shoulder, “if you’re going to aggravate him, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean to.” Athos looks down at Aramis, face red with the effort to draw breath. “I…” Athos hesitates with what to say next, Aramis’ struggle leaving him silent. Without further word, he leaves, the sight of Aramis looking at him in fear etched in his mind as he goes to sit in the lobby.


	26. Coffee and Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Porthos and d'Artagnan arrive at the ER they find Athos upset. Porthos realizes that while they need to check in on Aramis, they also have to help Athos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

When Porthos and d’Artagnan arrive in the ER finding Athos in the waiting room both surprises and startles them.

“What happened,” Porthos asks Athos, who doesn’t notice their arrival.

Athos looks up at them confused. “What?”

“Aramis. What happened? Why are you out here?”

“Oh… He’s… um. He’s fine, I think.”

“What’s wrong, Athos?” Porthos stops to take in Athos’ sunken appearance. He sits in the chair next to Athos.

“I yelled at him and he panicked. I… I think he’s afraid of me.”

“I doubt that. He’s just out of it. You probably surprised him. You know how he is after severe asthma attacks.” Porthos tries not to be dismissive, but he’s sure that Athos isn’t completely at fault here.

“How long have you been out here,” d’Artagnan asks.

“When did I call you?” Athos isn’t sure if that’s an answer or not. He’s lost track of time as he’s sat out here ruminating, playing the scene, his words, and Aramis’ face over and over again.

“The whole time no one came out to tell you anything?”

“I think they were more concerned with Aramis. He’s not going to forgive me for leaving him alone here.” Athos stands and moves to push past d’Artagnan to see Aramis.

“Calm down, Athos,” Porthos says, standing and reaching out to stop Athos. “Let’s go see how he’s doing. He’s probably sleeping. He tends to be exhausted after these attacks anyway.”

“Okay.” Athos sighs and nods his head, allowing them to walk back with him. After checking with the nurse, they go to see Aramis. They find him sleeping.

“See, Athos. He’s just resting,” Porthos says.

Athos nods, a guilty look still on his face.

“He’s fine, Athos,” d’Artagnan says.

“Yes,” another voice says, deeper, “despite that earlier outburst, he will be fine.” They turn to find the newcomer to be the doctor.

“I’m sorry,” Athos says quietly.

“It wasn’t intentional,” Porthos says, louder and looking at the doctor.

“I’m sure it wasn’t, but the fact is it upset Aramis and then when Athos left, we had even more difficulties in getting him to settle.”

“You didn’t sedate him, did you,” Athos asks, a new panic building.

“No. I read his record. He’s exhausted and not just from this asthma attack. His body just couldn’t take the strain and gave in to sleep. He fought it to the very end though. One of the nurses, Megan, I think, stayed with him until he finally gave in.”

“He’ll be alright though,” d’Artagnan asks.

“Let’s take this conversation outside here so we don’t disturb him.” They move outside the curtain, down the hall a little before the doctor continues. “Yes, he’ll be fine, but he should take at least tomorrow off and he needs to work on getting better rest. His body can’t be pushed like this for much longer.”

“Exhaustion?” Porthos looks to d’Artagnan and Athos and then back at the doctor. “I think we knew that he was having some sleepless nights but nothing enough to lead to exhaustion.”

“It’s not a serious case, yet. But he is heading there and with tonight’s asthma attack and the start of the panic attack, it was really too much for him. He wore out quite quickly.”

“What should we do,” d’Artagnan asks.

“He needs a steady schedule, both work and sleep. It’s not a quick fix, but it will start to combat the tiredness.”

“We’re Musketeers, the steady work schedule may be a bit difficult, but we’ll see what we can do,” Porthos says. “How long will you be keeping him?”

“Well, since his breathing was sorted out relatively quickly, I’m not concerned with admitting him. Unless of course, it gets worse. I’d like to wait a couple more hours before I release him to make sure he’s not going to have any more problems.”

“So, he’ll be fine,” d’Artagnan asks.

“Yeah. He might be a bit tired, lethargic given this attack, but he’ll be fine.”

“What about work,” Athos asks.

“He should be fine. I recommend him going lightly for now. Perhaps desk duty for a day or two. I’ll have a more definite plan based on how he is when he’s released.”

With that, the doctor leaves them to tend to other patients. Back out in front of Aramis’ bed, Porthos stops the three of them before they go through the curtain.

“d’Artagnan, do you mind staying with ‘Mis. Athos and me will go for some coffee and snacks.”

“We did get coffee,” d’Artagnan comments, holding up the coffee tray he’s had a hold on since they picked it up.

“That stuff’s terrible.”

“Then why’d you get it?”

“Because it was the closest place and we needed to get here. But if we’re going to get through the night we need better coffee and some food.”

“I know what you’re doing, Porthos, and it’s not necessary. I’m fine sitting here with Aramis,” Athos says.

“It’s not a choice, Athos. You need a break from here. You’ve been with him since he had the attack. And if we’re going to sit with him for the rest of the night, we’re going to need coffee and I’d prefer something better than what the hospital serves. So, let’s go out, get a break from the ER, and pick up something to refresh us.” Porthos works to keep his tone light, knowing that Athos is on edge right now from guilt and lingering anger. He’s relieved when Athos doesn’t put up any more of a fight and they leave d’Artagnan to sit with Aramis.

“You’re not going to make me talk, are you,” Athos asks once they are outside. They’ve been here late night enough times to know that just down the road a block is a café that has just opened for the early morning commuters.

“Not if you don’t want to. I just didn’t want the terrible coffee the hospital sells and something more than cheese crackers from the vending machine. It’s been a long night. It was before this.”

Athos doesn’t argue anymore, quietly walking alongside Porthos. They order their coffee and enough snacks to keep the three of them satisfied as well as something for Aramis once he’s ready.

“He was afraid of me, Porthos,” Athos finally says as they walk back to the hospital. Porthos lets him go on, sensing the man’s need to vent. “I asked him what happened and when he didn’t answer I assumed he ran off after his stalker like he did last time. I didn’t even see he was panicking, Porthos. The fear in his eyes. I can’t stop seeing how afraid of me he was.”

“He was probably just confused, Athos. You know what he’s like after an attack and if he was panicking, then he could’ve been seeing anything, anyone.”

“No, it was me he was seeing, Porthos. I know it. He called out for me only I didn’t hear it because I was too busy yelling at him. Assuming that he almost ruined the mission for his crazy stalker.”

“You think he did?”

Athos pauses. “I don’t know. I don’t want to believe it, but…”

“Him having done it before puts it out there.”

“Yeah. I don’t like it though.”

“Do we need to take Treville up on his offer,” Porthos asks.

“Administrative leave? Aramis will hate it.”

“That’s a guarantee, but he’ll have the time he needs to sort this out. To get his depression and PTSD under control again before coming back to work. And it’ll keep him out of Richelieu’s eyes. Another incident like this and we might not be able to protect him from Richelieu anymore.”

“I don’t know, Porthos. This could be the last straw.”

“He’ll see reason once he’s better.”

“Or not. He could leave.”

“I don’t think he’d do that,” Porthos says.

“You don’t? He already doesn’t completely trust us. Anything more happens and I’m worried we might permanently sever things between us.”

“It’s possible but don’t you think it’s worth the risk? He’d do the same for us.”

“I know. I know. Maybe it’s my own depression getting in the way, making me doubt things that I needn’t.” Athos shakes his head lightly in frustration.

“How’s that all going? The appointments and stuff?”

“Fine.” Athos sighs heavily.

“Okay.” Porthos is hesitant to push but he would like to know more.

“Sorry, Porthos. It’s just tiring between this and Aramis and work. There are times when I’d rather not leave the sanctity of my bed.”

“You need some time off? And not just from work. From Aramis?”

“No. It’s just going to take some time I think to get sorted out.”

“You want to head home for the night? Get some rest before meeting us at work.”

“I’m not sure I could sleep but with Aramis still in the ER or alone in that house.”

“You use to.”

“I know but I’ve grown used to your company. All three of you.”

“Well, if I have anything to say about it, none of us are going anywhere, not even Aramis.”

“I’m not sure that you do. We have to let him go, if he wants.”

“Let’s not give up the fight right now. He may not even want to leave. Okay?”

“Sure.” Athos can see the sense in not giving in right now, but he doesn’t have a good feeling about it.

“Good, then let’s get back in to see how Aramis is doing and relieve d’Artagnan.”

Athos nods and they work their way back into the ER. “He really is doing much better. d’Artagnan that is. He’s more comfortable with Aramis.”

“I agree. He is much more comfortable.”

When they’re back in the ER, they find Aramis still asleep and d’Artagnan busy on his phone. He reports no change and they settle in to wait.

They wait nearly an hour before Aramis starts to show signs of waking.

“Hey, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” Aramis says, voice rough with sleep and from the asthma attack. d’Artagnan gets him some water. “You’re all here? What about the stakeout? What time is it?”

“It’s five in the morning and the stakeout ended without finding anything, other than what you found,” Porthos says.

“Which we’ll talk about later,” Athos adds when he sees Aramis worrying over how to answer.

“Of course,” Porthos agrees. “Your breathing is okay?”

“Yeah. There’s the usual soreness and some tightness, but it’s better.” Aramis rubs his chest. His throat is sore, too, but he knows it will pass in time. “Any word on when I can leave?”

“That’s the Aramis we know.” Porthos smiles.

“The doctor said it would depend on how you’re feeling after a couple hours,” d’Artagnan says. “I’ll go find a nurse to see about getting the doctor back. I’m sure you’re ready to get out of here.”

They have a short wait for the doctor, who asks Aramis some questions and checks his vitals before getting the paperwork going to release him. Aramis changes into the clean clothes that Porthos and d’Artagnan brought from the office. While he changes, Athos and d’Artagnan go to fill a couple new prescriptions for him to help with his increased breathing issues. Meanwhile, Porthos deals with finishing up the paperwork and collecting the orders the doctor gave Aramis for the next few days, which include taking it easy and scheduling an appointment with Frice to re-check his breathing.

They get home shortly before seven and head to bed for a few hours sleep. Having done the stakeout the night before, Treville doesn’t expect them in until later, which works nicely given how their night turned out. None have the energy for breakfast and simply crash in their beds.

Aramis is reluctant to change out of his clothes, having found it difficult to get into them in the ER. He’s sure the others are unaware of the injuries that are hidden underneath his shirt, the bruises and scratches that have made his breathing more difficult and that he asked the doctor not to tell the others about. He doesn’t want them to know of the spill he took in running after the stalker. In fact, he hasn’t even told them about the stalker because he doesn’t want their ire at his continued investigation.

The bruising isn’t bad, but it’s going to hurt and make him stiff for a while. Fortunately, the doctor in the ER was pretty persistent in reminding the others that he would have continued difficulties with his asthma, especially considering that he’s had increasing problems with it over the last few weeks.

In the end, he does change because if one of them comes in to check on him or wake him, he doesn’t want questions. He does do another nebulizer treatment before going to bed to ease the strain of breathing and, hopefully, help him to sleep this morning before they have to go in to work for what will be a late shift.


	27. The Last Straw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos thought the interrupted stakeout was the worst it could get, especially in twenty-four hours but Aramis seems to have a point to prove and gets himself in far more trouble than they could have imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fairly nervous about this chapter because it adds an element to the story that I never anticipated. Aramis though seems to want to prove that he really can outdo himself and this one takes the cake. I don't know if this chapter needs any special sort of warning, but I know that there are people are triggered by various things and police violence can be triggering. So, please look to the end notes for more explanation if you wish. 
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing as I've been tinkering with this chapter for a bit.

It’s just before one when they arrive at work, somewhat refreshed from their morning nap. While the others settle into their work at their desks, Athos goes to report to the captain about their night.

“I heard there was some trouble last night,” Treville says once Athos closes the office door. “I got the reports for the back up you called. Something happen,” Treville asks when Athos gives him a puzzled look.

“Yeah.” Athos is somewhat hesitant to reveal everything, concerned about the repercussions from Treville.

“Athos?”

“Aramis saw something and took off without his radio.”

“The stalker?”

“He didn’t say and he was in the middle of a bad asthma attack once I found him.”

“How’s he doing?”

“We took a trip to the ER, but the doctor said he’d be fine. He suggested desk duty until Aramis can get in with Frice to get better control over his asthma considering the number of attacks he’s had lately and the severity of this one.”

“I’m leaning towards something more than desk duty, Athos.”

“He might’ve seen something case related, Captain,” Athos counters.

“This is not the diligent Aramis we know. He’s making mistakes, leaving his team out of the loop.”

“The doctor said he was suffering from the onset of exhaustion.”

“Leave perhaps then is the best solution.”

“A schedule change. Primarily at home, I think. He needs to get more sleep, which will be difficult considering we all thought he was getting more sleep.” Athos doesn’t manage to hide his irritation at the gap in their information.

“You’re doing an awful lot to defend him.”

“He’s my brother.”

“And you trust him?”

“Yes,” Athos says. “And I don’t want to bench him yet.”

“Are you confident he can turn this around?”

“Yes, but I gather you don’t think he can.”

“No, that’s not it. I know he can, but I’m really beginning to think that he needs some time off to recover.”

“Perhaps, but I’d like to give him a little more time. Talk to him about what happened last night to see what he says. I think, too, that it’d be best if we could get him to make the decision himself.”

“I understand and agree that it would be best if he made the decision, but I’m not sure that he’s going to. But, I’m willing to give you the chance to work with him. His next incident, though, he’s done. Administrative leave until it’s resolved. As for today, let him know the desk duty stands until he sees Frice.”

“Thanks, Captain.”

“Don’t make me regret this, Athos. I don’t want to lose Aramis. I don’t want anything to happen, okay?”

“I’ll do my best, Captain,” Athos says, looking him in the eyes before leaving. Outside, he catches Aramis’ glance and signals for him to follow him to the lounge.

“What’s up, Athos,” Aramis asks. The lounge is empty for their conversation, which Athos hasn’t given much of a hint about but he’s sure what the topic is.

“Treville knows what happened last night.”

“And?”

“And you’re on desk duty until you get your asthma under control.”

“Desk duty? Athos, I’ve had a few bad attacks, nothing that really warrants desk duty. I’m perfectly fine.”

“And have you used your inhaler since you got up today?”

“No.”

“Nebulizer?”

“A precaution.”

“How about for the last few weeks, Aramis? You can’t deny that you’ve been struggling with your asthma more lately than normal.”

Aramis sighs but agrees. “I am doing my best with it, Athos. I’m not trying to let it worsen.”

“I know, but for now, you’re on desk duty until you can get it under control. Not only does having an asthma attack out there put you at risk, it puts others at risk.”

“Yeah, sure. Anything else?”

“Not right now. Well, other than needing to finish your paperwork from last night’s stakeout.”

“I’m in the middle of that and, if we’re done here, I’ll get back to it seeing as I’m riding the desk for the foreseeable future.” Aramis lets a little irritation slip in though it’s not from the desk duty, rather his aching ribs. In fact, he’s happy to have desk duty because he can’t imagine moving around much more without the pain increasing and growing more irritated.

“This isn’t a punishment, Aramis,” Athos says as they leave the lounge.

“I’m not sure about that,” Aramis mutters quietly as he parts ways with Athos to go to his own desk. He spends the afternoon writing up his report and working on their case more. Around five, Athos stops by his desk to ask if he wants to go pick up dinner with him.

“You mean I’m actually allowed to leave my desk,” Aramis asks, half sarcastic. “Why I thought I was on desk duty.”

“Aramis,” Athos says with light irritation.

“You really mean I’m allowed to leave?”

“I can take d’Artagnan. He’s itching to get out, too.”

“No, no. I’m coming. Just let me get my jacket. I’m not going to turn down this chance to have my tether released.”

“Has it really been that bad,” Athos asks as they leave the station, their teammates’ orders in hand.

“No, not really.” They walk in silence for a bit. The restaurant they’re getting their dinner from is a few blocks away. “Did you get the report from last night,” Aramis asks after a pause.

“Yes.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“With the report? No. It’s all there.”

“Then I don’t have any questions at the moment.” As Athos read in the report, Aramis can’t identify what he saw that made him run but it was something suspicious. If it was related to the case or stalker, Aramis didn’t note. “I do, however, want to apologize for what happened this morning.”

“What?”

“In the ER, when you were recovering from the asthma attack I started talking to you. I, um, I accused you of running off after something related to your stalker.”

“Oh. It’s a little fuzzy, but I do remember some kind of discussion.”

“Well, I should’ve waited for that discussion until later when you were more alert. It wasn’t my intention to cause you a panic attack, either. I feel really bad about that.”

“I know,” Aramis says. “It wasn’t intentional though, so please don’t beat yourself up for it.”

“I really didn’t mean to do it.” Athos stops walking, turning to face Aramis, a serious look in his eyes. “I really didn’t. I feel terrible, Aramis. I’m sorry.”

“I know that you didn’t mean to do it, Athos.” Aramis puts a hand on Athos’ shoulder for emphasis, seeing the man’s distress. “Thank you for apologizing. I forgive you, so please stop stressing about it.”

“I’ll work on it.”

“Good. Then, shall we get dinner then?”

Athos nods and starts walking towards the restaurant again. Aramis works to keep the conversation up as they walk, trying to distract Athos from his worry and guilt. They place their order at the restaurant and move aside to wait, glancing out the windows at the busy sidewalks and streets.

Athos knows what Aramis is doing and appreciates it. As the younger man talks, Athos takes a moment to take in his appearance. He hadn’t quite noticed the exhaustion in Aramis until now, remembering what the doctor told them. Aramis may be talking animatedly, but there’s a slump in his body that can’t be hidden. He wonders how much Aramis is sleeping. It’s been a while since he joined him down in the den, but the darkened areas under his eyes show the truth. The doctor was right; they would have to do something to make sure Aramis got better sleep.

He doesn’t notice for a bit that Aramis has stopped talking and is watching something out of the window.

“Something interesting, ‘Mis?” Athos turns to look out in the same direction, finding nothing of interest.

“No, sorry.” Aramis shake his head. “Just my mind drifting a bit there.”

“You sure?”

“I’m not planning on bolting, Athos.”

Before Athos can respond, a server brings their food. Athos pays and the two take the bags. It is about halfway back that Athos realizes that Aramis is distracted, watching something.

“Aramis?”

“Just thought I saw something,” Aramis explains as they keep moving. Though he tries to keep himself focused on heading back to the station, but he can’t stop turning to look for the leather jacket he thought he saw back at the restaurant. It’s when a man in a leather jacket turns his face, looking straight at Aramis that he goes running, tossing an apology over his shoulder to Athos.

Athos watches Aramis dodge traffic, ignoring honking of horns as he looks for a better way to cross. Before he does anything, his instincts turn on, categorizing the basic features of the man: white, short brown hair, a little shorter than Aramis, and wiry. He tosses the food aside and pulls out his phone to let Porthos know what’s happened. He crosses the street as he’s finished talking with Porthos and then takes off, following Aramis the best he can.

As he runs against the flow of pedestrians, he finds his movements irritatingly slowed. He yells and pushes to get more space, just enough for him to track Aramis, glancing above the crowd to keep an eye on the curly mop of hair. He catches up with Aramis down an alley just when he sees Aramis tackle a leather jacket wearing man. The two hit the ground harshly and Athos hears the air rush out of the leather jacket man’s lungs.

Athos expects Aramis to stop, to push himself off the man but it doesn’t happen. Instead, there’s a tussle but Athos can’t see who starts it outside of Aramis’ tackling. Without further hesitation, Athos steps in.

“Aramis, stop this,” he calls out. When Aramis doesn’t seem to hear him, he calls out again, louder, which is enough to put a sudden halt to Aramis’ movements. In that pause, the man turns over grabbing Aramis and slamming him against the road. Aramis’ eyes roll back when his head hits the ground and his body tries to curl away from the punches. Then Athos manages to pull the leather jacket man off, handcuffing him to the side. With a better look at him now, he almost matches the description d’Artagnan gave of their good Samaritan, who claimed to be a doctor.

“’Mis, you okay,” Athos asks.

“Is he okay? How about me,” the man yells. “He’s the nutcase who jumped me and beat me up.”

Athos couldn’t help but agree with that though there was little need for the man’s subsequent attack that has left Aramis almost senseless, still not responding to Athos’ calls. As much as he doesn’t like this, he knows what he has to do. He uncuffs the man, after extracting a promise not to leave the scene. Then he calls an ambulance and the police. He doesn’t like bringing in Richelieu, but this has to be done by the book.

“You know what,” the leather jacket man begins, “I’m willing to call this one even. He hit me, I hit him. Okay?”

“Even if you decide to not press charges, we still need to report the incident. It’s part of our procedures,” Athos explains. He kneels down to check on Aramis, who’s only given some moans and sluggish movements as a sign of life. “’Mis?” Athos puts a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder, looking over his body for a greater sign of life as well as for injuries. Nothing was apparent aside from some scratches.

“’Thos?” Aramis’ voice is weak as his head lolls towards Athos and eyes open slightly. But before Athos can ask anything, Aramis loses consciousness. He checks Aramis’ pulse quickly, then turns his full attention to the leather jacket man. The man, he suspects, would like to simply leave, but that would mean they’d have to track him down and could do Aramis’ case worse.

“Are you seriously hurt,” Athos asks him.

“Why don’t you take my statement and then I can go and let you deal with your friend,” the man says.

“I can’t. We’re both Musketeers, so it’s a conflict of interest. The police will be here shortly and they’ll start the process. Now, please, are you hurt anywhere?”

“Nothing serious, I just have an important meeting to get to.”

“I understand and I’m sorry that you’ve been waylaid by my friend here. I assure you that the police will get through this as quickly as possible.”

The man nods his head in resignation and leans against the wall behind him. Athos returns to Aramis’ side while keeping himself in range of the man, fearing that he might bolt.

As Athos expects, the police and ambulance are quick to arrive. Porthos, d’Artagnan, and Treville arrive at the same time. Athos gives the standard spiel to the paramedics when they came to see to Aramis. One went to check on the leather jacket man while the other knelt next to Aramis, working with Athos to assess the man’s condition.

“What happened, Athos,” Porthos asks, kneeling at Aramis’ feet while d’Artagnan stands behind to keep out of the way.

“I’ll explain later but it’s not good,” Athos says, his attention more on Aramis and the paramedic than Porthos.

“We expected that much,” d’Artagnan says. “The Captain cursed the entire way here after hearing the call come in.”

“Hey, Mike, how’s your patient,” the paramedic looking at Aramis asks.

“Superficial injuries mostly. He’s asked to sign that he’s refused treatment. How about yours?”

“Not critical, but we need to get him loaded up. He’s stable but hasn’t regained consciousness.” With that, the paramedics get to work on getting Aramis loaded up. Mike gets the form for the leather jacket man to sign.

When Athos goes to climb in the back of the ambulance with Aramis, Porthos stops him. “You have to stay here,” Porthos explains when Athos gives him a confused look.

“Treville’s orders,” d’Artagnan says.

“I’ll go with him while d’Artagnan stays here. You need to give your statement to the police so we can make sure everything’s done by the books.”

Athos nods and moves back, letting Porthos climb in. He shuts the doors and bangs the back in a familiar pattern. He then turns to d’Artagnan.

“You okay,” the young man asks.

“No, not really,” Athos says.

“What happened here?”

“I’m not sure.”

“And Aramis?”

Athos sighs. “It’s not good, d’Artagnan. This might be the end of him.” Athos walks on looking for the officer in charge to give his statement, leaving d’Artagnan standing puzzled behind him.

The whole process goes as Athos expects. It’s not the first time he’s dealt with an investigation into one of their own. He explains to the lead officer on the case what he witnessed.

“So, once d’Herbley tackled Mr. Harcourt, you don’t know if anything was said or any more physical altercation took place until d’Herbley was slammed on the ground,” the officer asks.

“There might’ve been, but I was just catching up with them at that point. He did stop once I got his attention.”

“And that’s when Mr. Harcourt flipped d’Herbley?”

“Yes.”

The officer thanks for his cooperation and leaves him standing idly, not having much to do with the police in charge of the investigation.

“How’re you doing, Athos,” Treville asks, coming up from behind to stand next to him.

“I’m pretty sure you can guess, Captain.” Athos tries not to be surly in his answer, but the last hour of tracking Aramis and answering questions about his incident has left him short tempered.

“Let’s go to the ER, Athos. There’s nothing more for us to do here.” Treville encourages Athos to start towards the car, where d’Artagnan is waiting. The drive is quiet and once Treville parks the car, he sits hesitant in his seat.

“What,” Athos asks.

“d’Artagnan, why don’t you go find out what you can,” Treville says in a tone that brokers no disagreement. d’Artagnan understands and exits the car without question.

“Captain?” Athos turns to look at the man, who no longer has the stern look from earlier. Instead, Athos sees the worry and concern.

“What really happened, Athos?”

“It’s just like I told them, Captain.”

“What was his mood? His mindset?”

“Was he in a flashback, you mean?”

“Athos, you already know that this bad. We could lose him over this. I don’t know how I’m going to fight this. I don’t know if there’s a way.”

“We, Captain,” Athos emphasizes. “We’re going to fight this.”

“You got over your despair quite quickly. You have an idea?”

“No, but we tackle this as we do everything, as a family. We both know that if Aramis loses this job, we lose him.” Athos pauses. “Perhaps we use his PTSD.”

“It’s already going around but not in a positive way. It might get him off the charge, but he’ll be fired from the force and ridiculed. He’d never find employment in law enforcement again.”

Athos sighs. “And then there’s the wild card, Richelieu.”

“Yes, there’s him.”

“So, what do we do, Captain?”

Treville pauses. “We take care of Aramis. Make sure he’s safe, get him healthy, and do our best to keep his job.”

“You think we can do all of that?”

“I’m not losing him, Athos. I don’t care what he thinks, I’m going to do everything I can to fight for him.” At the moment, Treville isn’t sure what he really can do. The Afghanistan situation was overall much easier because Aramis hadn’t really been in the wrong. This time it would be a big mark against the Musketeers and even if Aramis survives with his job, despite their best efforts he could easily become the station’s pariah.

Still, there had to be a way out. Treville refuses to believe that this would be the end for him. Aramis had fought through too much to lose to it all now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as to not catch anyone off guard, I do want to warn about some police vs. civilian violence in this chapter. It's short but is a central part of the chapter and I realize that what happens might be similar to real life events.


	28. Third Time's the Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third time's the charm, but not for Aramis because when it rains, it pours. In other words, nothing goes right for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

When Athos and Treville get themselves together enough to go inside, they find Aramis having been sent for scans to check for breaks and bleeding and in his place d’Artagnan sits in the exam room with questions.

“How is he,” Treville asks, having set aside his earlier concerns.

“He’s regained consciousness, but he was confused. Porthos went with him for the tests,” d’Artagnan explains.

“Injuries?”

“Doctor said a concussion, some cracked ribs, and bruises on top of the bruises that are already there.”

“Bruises that were already there,” Treville questions. “When did that happen?” He turns to Athos.

“I can’t think of when except for last night but the doctor didn’t say anything about bruising,” Athos says. “Did Aramis say anything?”

d’Artagnan shakes his head. “No, but he wasn’t too alert. That’s part of the reason Porthos went with him. What about things at the scene?”

“Much of it is out of our hands for now, d’Artagnan,” Treville says. “Our goal is to see to Aramis. He needs our support and help.”

d’Artagnan nods his understanding and before he can say anything more, Porthos and Aramis come back. The nurse who pushes the gurney back finishes setting Aramis up to the monitors and IV. Athos notes that he also has a nasal cannula. Before the nurse leaves, she lets them know the doctor is looking at the tests and would be by soon.

“How’re you doing, ‘Mis,” Athos asks. The young man is awake and doesn’t seem to be in too much pain.

“Okay,” Aramis answers blandly.

“What’s wrong? Other than the obvious.”

Aramis sighs, wincing as it pulls on his ribs. “Nothing. Just sore and tired.”

“Try to get some sleep then,” Athos suggests not believing Aramis’ excuse. Aramis is trying to settle into sleeping when the doctor arrives. It’s Dr. Curtis, someone they’re familiar with.

“How’s the pain, Aramis,” she asks, moving to stand near the gurney.

“Fine,” he answers tiredly.

“Truthfully?” Curtis knows his tendency to downplay the pain.

“Yeah. It’s fine. I’m just tired.”

“Okay. Well, the good news is that there are no skull fractures, not even back at the main injury site. Though four of your ribs are cracked, there are no breaks, which is good because I can see from your O2 numbers that you’re still struggling with your asthma. Not to mention the layering of bruises on your chest.”

“About the layering of bruises,” Athos begins. “Can you tell how old they are?”

“Actually, they’re in the report from this morning.”

“The alley? Aramis did something happen in the alley that you didn’t tell us about?”

“I fell, Athos. You said you heard it,” Aramis says tiredly.

“I didn’t think you fell hard enough to bruise yourself, Aramis.”

“It was a spectacular fall.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Aramis shrugs, wincing. “When can I leave?”

“Tomorrow at the earliest,” Curtis says.

“But it’s not like I’ve not had a concussion before.”

“You lost consciousness for more than a few minutes and this is your second trip to the ER in less than a day with even more bruising to your chest. Before I’ll even think about releasing you, you need to get your O2 numbers up. The paperwork’s been started already. A nurse should be coming by shortly to get you up to a regular room. Any questions?”

Aramis shakes his head.

“Nothing more. Thank you, doctor,” Treville says.

“Right,” she says, picking up on the tension growing. “It should be less than a half hour before you get sorted into a room, but in the meantime, don’t hesitate to get a nurse if you need.” Once she leaves, the others stand awkwardly around the bed trying to sort out what to do. It’s Treville who breaks the silence.

“Alright. I’m going to go make a couple phone calls. Athos and Porthos, I want you two to go back to the station. We still have a case to solve, after all. Don’t talk about what happened, if someone asks. Just let them know how Aramis is. Okay?” Porthos and Athos nod their understanding. “d’Artagnan, you’ll stay here with Aramis.”

“Don’t need a babysitter,” Aramis retorts tiredly.

“After today, Aramis, I don’t give a damn about what you think you need. You’re going to listen to us and take the help we offer because we are looking after your best interests here.” Treville doesn’t shout as he speaks, but he is firm in his tone. Aramis is quiet and plain-faced afterward. “Call me, d’Artagnan, if anything happens. I’ll be gone a while probably.”

Athos gives Aramis and d’Artagnan one last look before leaving with Porthos. Aramis’ silence concerns him and he feels bad leaving d’Artagnan with him, but he knows that Treville has reasons for dividing them up like this. It isn’t until they’re back at the station that Porthos talks.

“How’re you doing, Athos?” Porthos turns the car off but doesn’t open the door.

“What happened, Porthos?” Athos leans his head back on the headrest.

“That was what I was wondering.”

“We’ve hit that point, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, I think so. He won’t like it though.”

“I think he knows that it’s coming,” Athos says.

“Does he? I’m not sure that he’s really aware of the situation.”

“He’s had flashbacks, but he’s never really been delusional, Porthos.”

“How could he fuck things up this badly? He may lose his job over this.”

“So, you do know what happened.”

“I know what I’ve been told, but I want to know that they’re wrong. This isn’t Aramis.”

“He saw a leather jacket that looked familiar and bolted and tackled the guy down an alley. Other than the punches thrown by the guy, I don’t know what happened after that. As I told them, I was working to catch up.”

“So, it’s really that guy’s word on what happened.”

“Yes.”

“And what case he’ll bring against us.”

“We might be in luck somewhat on that front. He didn’t seem too worried about that. He more wanted to get away. I had to convince him to stay to leave his statement.”

“That’s… strange,” Porthos sighs.

“Hadn’t thought about it much since then, but I suppose it is. The Captain will find out if anything comes up. He’ll be speaking with the police chief and Richelieu.”

“Damn it. I’d forgotten about him. Even if the guy doesn’t press charges, Richelieu won’t let this go.”

“And he shouldn’t,” Athos says.

“I know, but this is Aramis. We all know he’s going through a rough period.”

“We both know that excuses nothing. If anything, I shouldn’t’ve fought Treville so hard about putting Aramis on leave weeks ago.”

“You’re going to blame yourself?”

“Porthos,” Athos begins.

“No, you’re not taking the blame. Treville could’ve overridden you if he wanted and I supported your decision. And besides, Aramis could’ve made the decision himself. He could’ve not been so pig-headed and asked to be put on leave.”

“And that’ll happen when pigs fly.”

“True.” Porthos pauses. “So, what now?”

“Now we do as Treville says. We look at our current case. We look after Aramis. And we keep to ourselves.”

“Yeah, I guess it has to be that way.” Porthos sighs.

It’s difficult to not think about what might be coming, but they do manage and in the process they get some work done. d’Artagnan keeps them updated and Constance brings food in, pitching in to help them on the case. Just before they’re ready to call it done for the night, Athos leaves to take a phone call and comes back half an hour later with a slightly relieved look.

“Who was that,” Porthos asks.

“The Captain.” Athos moves to lean against the front of his desk to look at Porthos and Constance.

“And?”

“And our leather jacket man is not who he claims to be. According to the police, he is Ed Wilson, wanted for child abuse, and thanks to Aramis, he’s been caught. An officer on the scene recognized him from a wanted poster at the police station.”

“’Mis must’ve seen it when he was on liaison duty,” Porthos says. He figures it stuck in his friend’s mind over the charge as Aramis is known to be particularly angry over crimes involving children. “That’s quite the lucky break.”

“Not quite.”

“Even though he caught a criminal,” Constance asks.

“Oh, they’re glad for that bit, but Richelieu gave Treville an earful. Aramis is still facing some trouble.”

“What kind?”

“Treville asked that I not discuss that with anyone until we have a chance to speak with Aramis. He’s already not going to like me and Treville making decisions for him. We’d like to contain the fallout as much as possible.” Athos and Treville had agreed to wait a few days to talk with Aramis, at least until he was released.

Aramis stays in the hospital for a couple days as they wait for the worst of the concussion to pass and his asthma to be controlled. He is uncharacteristically quiet through it all, answering them when they ask questions but otherwise keeping to himself, sleeping most of the time. Treville is surprised that not once does Aramis ask about the incident on Friday afternoon or the ramifications. He suspects that Aramis knows already and is simply resigned to his fate.

The concussion and bruising have ensured that Aramis is off-duty for the coming week and Treville is tempted to let his talk with the younger man go for the time being, especially with Thanksgiving this week. With his team on duty for the holiday, Aramis will be spending the days at his house with Sarah and the kids. And while he will be civil when around the kids, Treville isn’t sure he wants to leave Sarah to deal with an angry Aramis. He remembers the heated conversation he had with Richelieu, who was furious to find out that Aramis hadn’t been benched sooner.

“I thought you were more responsible than this, Captain,” Richelieu says. “I know what he means to you, how much you’ve fought for him in the past, but he has become a danger.”

“He is not a danger,” Treville protests.

“He tackled a man on the streets without any reason.”

“He caught a criminal.”

“He didn’t know that at the time. Apparently, he thought this was related to some stalker he thinks he has.”

Treville curses quietly, wondering where he’d gotten that bit of information.

“A stalker,” Richelieu continues, “that you’ve never discussed with me.”

“That’s because the evidence shows there isn’t one, but Aramis believes there is.”

“And you think this is better? You have an unstable man working. Have had for weeks, apparently.”

“He’s not unstable. I’ve been keeping a close eye on him. He knew that this time would be the last straw.”

“This time, Captain? This was one time too many. He should’ve been on administrative leave at the very least weeks ago.”

“He will be now,” Treville says.

“Now is too late. He’s fired, Captain.”

Treville pauses, taking a breath as he knows that Richelieu is trying to get him to lose his temper. “You don’t have that authority and you know it. As superintendent you know that you don’t have that kind of control, especially not over the Musketeers.”

“No, of course not. That belongs to the police board, but you know that they support me.” Treville hears the smile in his voice.

“You know that he can’t stand before the board right now.”

“Of course not. When he recovers, Captain. Before he steps foot back in the station, he will have to be cleared by the board. Do you understand, Captain?”

“Yes, of course,” Treville says as he is already plotting how to give Aramis the time he needs to recover and himself time to find a way out for Aramis.

As much as he wants to wait, he thinks Aramis will be angrier with him for withholding the decision. He’s had the day at home to rest and that should be enough. He’ll talk with him and then leave, letting the others do the work of being his friends. With his mind made up, he finally gets out of his car and goes into the house, announcing himself to the others on his way in.

“How’s Aramis,” he asks, finding Athos, Porthos, and d’Artagnan in the kitchen preparing dinner.

“Resting up in his room. He had a headache after lunch,” Porthos says.

“I was going to speak with him. Is this a bad time?”

“No, I don’t think so. What are you talking to him about?”

“His future as a Musketeer.” Treville doesn’t elaborate anymore as he turns to walk out of the kitchen and up to Aramis’ room. When he hears footsteps behind him, he stops and turns. “Athos, you should stay here.”

“No,” Athos says.

 “We’ve talked about this before. You should stay here. He’s going to need the three of you on his side after this.”

“Captain, I’m team leader, I’m going in there to talk to him with you. Besides, whenever he’s struggling with stuff, I’m the one he usually comes to and it would help if I knew what’d happened.”

“The fact that you’re his confidant in matters such as these is why you need to stay out of this.”

“Both of you just get up here before your arguing gives me another headache,” Aramis says tiredly.

In the bedroom, they find Aramis making his way back to his bed and settling with a grimace.

“How’re you feeling,” Treville asks.

“Decided to go with the pleasantries first?” Aramis gives them a knowing smile.

“Aramis, please. You have to know that none of this is done willingly,” Athos says.

“I do? You promised me trust, Athos. Does this look like trust?”

“You lost that, Aramis,” Treville says, uncharacteristically loud. “You lost that trust when you tackled someone without provocation, when you decided to take matters into your own hands.”

“You weren’t doing anything!”

“We looked, Aramis. I turned over every rock I could looking for a stalker but there’s no one. I told you that. You used to trust me. But you don’t anymore. And your actions have led me to not trust you.” Treville forces himself to face Aramis’ shocked face and the look makes him soften in his tone. “I’m doing this to help you, to protect you. Richelieu would love nothing more than to fire you now, but I’ve convinced him to wait for the board to hear your case, which won’t happen until you return to work, which you won’t be doing for four months and not until you’ve been cleared by a psychologist.”

“And this is all your doing?”

“Yes, for your benefit.”

 “For my benefit?” Aramis scoffs. “And what if I chose differently?”

“You can’t return to work except under these conditions.”

“And what if I don’t want to return to work?”

“Aramis,” Treville begins earnestly, sitting down on the bed next to Aramis’ legs. “René, I’m doing this…”

“We, Captain, Aramis,” Athos interrupts. “We’re doing this.”

Treville nods. “We’re doing this to help you, not drive you away. We know that you’ve been going through a rough several months and it’s only gotten worse. This is designed to help you recover before you have to worry about your job. But,” Treville pauses with a heavy sigh, “if you want to leave, you can.”

“Captain,” Athos protests.

“Athos, it’s his decision. We’ll be here for him, as always, but it’s Aramis who must decide what to do.”

“Thank you for that, at least, Captain,” Aramis says.

There’s an awkward pause until Athos speaks, having taken note of the increasing paleness of Aramis’ face and the pinched look around his eyes and forehead. “Do you need your pain meds, Aramis?”

“No, I need you two to leave. Now,” he says firmly.

“But you shouldn’t allow the pain to fester.”

“I’ll let it go, if I want. Now leave, please.”

“Come on, Athos. Let’s let him have some time to rest. He’ll feel better then.” Treville urges Athos towards the door and the two reluctantly leave, but not without the feeling of an irrevocable shift between them. Treville hates it as much as he sees Athos does, who uncharacteristically lets his emotions show.

“I’m going to lie down for a while. Do you mind letting Porthos and d’Artagnan know before you leave,” Athos says and walks away. Treville stands at the top of the stairs wondering what he has done.


	29. The First Appointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Aramis' conversation with Treville and Athos, tensions are high and Aramis is unmoving. Porthos decides to take matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who are still reading and those who leave a comment or kudos. I appreciate the feedback. This story feels like it's gone on forever, at least to me, but that's probably because I've been working on it since last July. Hopefully, it's not dragging for you all. It is getting into the part of the story I've been looking forward to and, as wandering as the story may seem, everything is leading up to something, but Aramis is going to have to suffer a little longer.
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Her advice and suggestions have made this story much better than the first draft. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

Neither Aramis nor Athos comes down for dinner and Porthos and d’Artagnan don’t have the heart to make them, especially after Treville left with so few words and a blank look. A silence comes over the house that extends to work the next day. While the others go to work, Aramis stays with the Treville’s where Sarah is on fall break. The kids are still in class for a couple more days, so the house is quiet as Aramis rests. He takes up his old place in the den, finding a strange bit of comfort on the old couch.

For her part, Sarah leaves him be. Jean talked with her about what he was going to say to Aramis, wondering if this was the right way to go. She also talked with him afterward. Like Jean, she was sure that Aramis would be civil with her and definitely with the children. Sarah sends the dogs in to stay with Aramis during the day. Freddie, the dog d’Artagnan rescued from the rain, has turned out to be a steadying influence on Aramis. They’d even done some therapy dog courses with him to help Aramis out more, though the dog is not certified as a therapy dog. Gracie, for her part, brings any number of socks, towels, and toys to whoever is sad in the house. Sarah knows that the two dogs will provide greater comfort now than she or anyone else case, save perhaps the kids, but Aramis needs silence for his still aching head.

She keeps Meg from the den during the afternoon.

“But I’ll be really quiet,” Meg says after lunch. “I’ll just read or color. Those don’t make any noise.”

“Uncle Aramis needs a dark room too.” The headache has only grown worse as the day wears on and she suspects that it’s not just the lingering concussion causing the problem. “Why don’t you do some drawing out here for him? I’m sure he’ll be happy to see it once he wakes up.”

“Can we bake him cookies instead?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’ll make him happy. His favorite cookies always do.”

Sarah relents because, while she knows that it won’t alleviate Aramis of his pain or sadness, it will show him that they care and that might be more important than anything they could do.

When he does wake and sees the cookies, he smiles, and Sarah hopes that it’s not just for Meg’s benefit. He eats a couple of cookies, but she can see that it’s difficult to take each bite. Pale and pained, Aramis goes back to the den to rest until someone comes to pick him up.

The days pass in much the same manner. By Wednesday, the kids are out of school for the Thanksgiving holiday. They do their homework then, not only to help Aramis’ still aching head and body with a quiet house but so that there’s no Sunday panic, which Sarah hates. Thursday they go to Athos’ house to prepare the meal while Athos, Porthos, and d’Artagnan work. Aramis, to Sarah’s dismay, can’t help much. He tries, but she sees the unsteadiness in his movements and the pained movements from his still bruised chest. Without complaint, he goes to rest in the den with a few ice packs on his chest to ease the ache.

Overall, the holiday and the week are a quiet affair and especially tense in the Inseparables household. They’re reluctant to force Aramis to make a decision, worried that he might choose to leave even all of them denied that he would out loud. After a week of little activity and increasingly hiding himself away in his room, Porthos has had enough of Aramis’ lack of action. Monday evening, after yet another tense, quiet dinner, when they’re clearing away the dishes, Porthos gives Aramis the news.

“This Thursday at 4 you have an appointment with a psychologist. I’ll come home to pick you up and take you there.” He’s firm but even in his tone. His goal isn’t to anger Aramis, but to let him know that he’s not going to give him up easily.

“Apparently, you haven’t spoken with Athos or Treville about this. I’ve been given a choice,” Aramis says, voice equally level.

“They’ve given you the choice. And yes, you can leave if you want, but let me tell you this. I don’t want you to leave and I’ll fight to keep you here. Whatever I have to do, however much you’ll hate me right now, I’m going to fight to keep you here with us, your family.”

“You may have a long fight,” Aramis says quietly.

“Then we’ll fight,” d’Artagnan says. “Right?” He glances at the others, who nod and agree with him.

As the time passes from when he’s told about the appointment to the appointment itself, they think more about Aramis’ comment about possibly leaving. Athos isn’t sure that it means Aramis has decided anything. He wonders if the man has the energy in him for a long fight. In the past several days he’s been withdrawn and lethargic, either of which may be the concussion and/or the anger. Sarah has let them know that he is still dealing with headaches, though they’ve gotten better. While Aramis is doing better and staying at home rather than with the Treville’s, she does stop by with Meg for a few hours in the afternoon to help break up the monotony of his day.

By the time Thursday comes, Porthos arrives early at home, catching Sarah and Meg as they’re leaving to pick up Ben from the bus stop.

“How’s he been,” Porthos asks as they stop in the garage.

“Quiet, though he did talk with Meg some. He was sleeping when we got here. Said he had a headache this morning,” Sarah says.

“Yeah, he woke feeling sick and the headache was coming on by the time we were leaving. Hopefully, he’s ready to go to his appointment.”

“He didn’t say anything about it and I didn’t ask.”

“Is Uncle Aramis sick again,” Meg asks. She is too young to remember Aramis’ initial bout with PTSD and depression, but she’s seen him go through other bouts and she’s heard about the others.

“Yes, but we’re trying to make sure it doesn’t get bad,” Porthos says. They’ve never hidden any of their illnesses from the kids.

“That’s good because I don’t like it when he’s sad.”

“Well, we don’t either and I don’t think Aramis likes it much. You still having fun in school?”

Meg shrugs her shoulders. “I can’t get any stickers.”

“Stickers?” Porthos glances at Sarah.

“Color by verbal instruction, which Meg is struggling with because she’s not listening to the teacher,” Sarah explains.

“It’s just a boring activity,” Meg complains.

“Well, there’s a question to ask yourself, Meg,” Porthos begins, kneeling down to meet her at eye level. “Is this activity hurting anyone?”

“It’s just coloring, Porthos.”

“There’s more than physical hurting. You know how Athos and Aramis hurt sometimes. Is it emotionally hurting anyone?”

“I dunno. Probably not. She never gets mad at us. She gives us ways to listen better.”

“It sounds like she’s trying to help. Your parents have probably already told you this, but you should try to listen harder and if you’re still struggling, then tell your teacher and your parents. Okay?”

“Okay.” Meg nods her head. “And you’ll make sure Aramis gets better?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“And Athos?”

“And Athos,” Porthos says, wondering how Meg picked up on Athos’ depression, which the man usually hides from everyone. He says his goodbyes and heads in, realizing that it’s very nearly time to get Aramis over to his appointment. To his surprise, the man is dressed with shoes and a jacket on, waiting on the stairs.

“You ready to go,” Porthos asks.

“Do I have a choice?” Aramis looks up at him.

“Yes. You always do.”

“What happened to fighting to keep me?”

“Oh, I’m still going to do that but think about this, ‘Mis, you wouldn’t’ve been dressed and ready to go if you weren’t wanting to go. Now, we really should get going. The roads are still a little slick from this morning’s snow, so we’re going to have to take our time.”

Aramis doesn’t say anything more but does follow Porthos out to the car. The ride to the clinic is quiet. Lemay had had his office over here, next to the hospital as well. Once he’s checked in, he joins Porthos in waiting. It’s not long before he’s called back.

The room he enters is familiar. Its Lemay’s old office and he’s not sure if he relieved or unsettled by the coincidence. He doesn’t have time to settle on either as the psychologist, a Dr. Morel, greets him with a handshake and a smiling face.

“Good afternoon, Mr. d’Herbley. I’m Dr. Morel, but you’re welcome to call me Leslie, if you like,” she says. “Please have a seat.” She gestures to an armchair behind Aramis.

“Please call me Aramis.” He chooses the armchair with some hesitation, finding it confining and closed. It’s not the same as Lemay’s and not as comforting, but it’ll have to do because he has to be here.

“Of course, Aramis.” She sits in the chair opposite the armchair. There’s a long pause, which Aramis takes to look anywhere but at Leslie. “Do you like snow?”

“What?” Aramis looks up suddenly.

“I asked if you like snow.”

“That’s not a therapy question.”

“No but it’s a conversation starter and it seems like we’re in need of one. So, do you like snow?”

“Yeah, I guess. You?”

“No, I’m more of a sunshine, hot weather type person.”

“I can’t say that’s my favorite type of weather.”

“No, I’d imagine not with your history.”

“It happened during the night, doctor,” Aramis says flatly.

“Of course, but you weren’t rescued for nearly two days.”

“How do you have this information?”

“It’s all in your file, Aramis.”

“I didn’t know that was all in there.”

“Well, not everything. But the basics are here.”

“Oh. I should’ve guessed that.”

There’s another silence that falls over them. Aramis is surprised that Leslie doesn’t try to broach conversation again, at least until about half-way through their hour-long session.

“Now, I can find any number of random conversation starters to get us going, but we should probably talk about why you’ve come here today and figure out a plan of action before the end of our hour,” Leslie says.

“Well, I guess I should say that it wasn’t my choice. Porthos, one of my friends and housemates, made the appointment and then told me about it.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“Yeah, there is that.”

“So, how did you feel when you found out that he scheduled the appointment?” For Morel, it isn’t entirely unusual for someone else to set up the appointments. It happens most often with children, but there are some adults who have their appointments set up by others. In Aramis’ case and some others, patients have the option to give those listed as their next of kin certain powers such as setting up appointments. They could also speak with her about his well-being and pick up his prescriptions.

“Angry, of course. How else would I feel?” Aramis tries not to sigh because he knows this is what he’s agreed to by coming to the appointment instead of walking away.

“A very sensible reaction, of course. But they are on your list.”

“Yes, but that was when things were better between us.”

“What’s happened? I’ve seen the recent hospitalization and ER visits in your record. Do they have anything to do with those?”

“Some. It’s just something we haven’t been seeing eye-to-eye on.”

“That’s quite a vague explanation,” Leslie comments with a little smile. “Care to elaborate?”

“No,” Aramis says simply.

“I understand.” She nods. “Trust is important to you and I’m someone new. You don’t know if you can trust me just yet.”

“It’s nothing to do with you, really,” Aramis says as an apology.

“Oh, I understand and it’s nothing to feel guilty about. While I don’t know everything that’s been going on, it sounds like a rough year so far and it’s worn on your closest friendships.”

“That sounds about right.”

“With time, though, I hope we’ll establish some trust.”

“Time?”

“Yes, I do recommend that we have more sessions. Just once a week to see about digging in deeper to what’s been bothering you.”

“Sessions?”

“Would you like to find another therapist?”

“No, not yet,” Aramis says slowly, thinking. There are not the usual warning signs he’s had with other therapists that he turned out not to like. Something about either her or the room is comforting him.

“Well, let’s start to think of plans for the coming week. What’s one thing that you’d like to work on for this week?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, tell me then how things have been lately. What are some things you’ve noticed aren’t normal?”

“I’m not sure I’m the one to ask about that. The others seem to notice more than me,” Aramis says.

“Well, then tell me about your normal day.”

“Well, I wake up early even though I’m on leave. I get up with the others and eat breakfast with them,” Aramis starts. He goes on to describe how he sometimes dozes in the morning while watching TV, getting going in the afternoon to get dinner put together. “It gets difficult in the evening to move around, do things lately. I’ve been getting headaches, a lingering effect from the concussion, I’m guessing. By then my chest and ribs are acting up, too.”

“And your breathing? I saw the report about the bruising.”

“It’s easing, finally, and with winter coming, the allergy season is ending, so that’s something.”

“That is good news. So, let’s take a look at your day. I like to recommend to my patients that they work on one thing at a time, so you don’t get overwhelmed because even a little forward progress is progress. Okay?”

Aramis nods his understanding.

“So, what would you like to tackle in this week? Is there something small that you’d like to do?”

“Not fall asleep during the day, I guess. It makes sleeping at night hard.”

“That’s a good small goal. What are some ways you can stay awake?”

“Not laying down on the couch even though it’s the most comfortable couch in the world.”

“That’s a start but let’s think of some other things too.”

They spend the remainder of the session thinking of ways to keep Aramis from sleeping during the day and by the end he’s feeling much better about the weekly appointments and Leslie as his therapist.

“Hey, I was a wondering,” he begins as he stands. “You look really familiar. Do you have a sister? I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere.”

“Yes, and you’ve probably seen her. She works in the ER as a nurse. Her name’s Megan. We’re often mistaken for twins. She mostly works at Northwestern downtown, but she sometimes picks up shifts elsewhere.

“I think she’s seen us a number of times. She’s very good at her job and nice.”

“Yes, she always wanted to be a nurse.”

Aramis has a hand on the doorknob when he stops and turns back. “I feel like I should apologize for my attitude during this session. It really is nothing to do with you. As I said things have been off with my friends lately and while I was going to find a therapist, they got to it before me.”

“It sounds like they’re concerned.”

“A bit smothering at times.”

“Perhaps as you make progress it’ll ease and things can start to go back to normal.”

“Perhaps.”

“Remember, if you need to have a session before our next one, give the office a call and we’ll see what we can do. In the meantime, work towards your goal for the week. Any questions?”

“No. None that I can think of.” Aramis thanks her and they say their goodbyes before he leaves to meet up with Porthos in the waiting room.

“How’d it go,” Porthos asks as they walk back to the car.

“Fine.”

“What’d she say?”

“Weekly sessions.”

“Anything else?”

Aramis sighs. He thinks about Leslie’s comment that Porthos getting him the appointment was a sigh he cared and on his own, he knows this. Porthos has always been there for him even when he didn’t always know what to do. On the surface, though, is anger because Porthos has seen him at his worst, helped him through the worst, and still, he hadn’t trusted him.

“Nothing more,” he says not wanting to get angry simply because Porthos cared.

Fortunately, Porthos lets the conversation drop there. He senses the tension and doesn’t want to get into an argument. When they get home, they find Athos and d’Artagnan eagerly awaiting. Before d’Artagnan has a chance to ask anything, Athos steers them into the kitchen.

“Dinner before any questions,” Athos says. “Other than, how’re you two doing?”

“Fine,” Aramis says grateful that Athos understood the need to not be pressured. He knows that d’Artagnan cares but the eagerness to question is off-putting.

“Good. Roads are clearing up nicely,” Porthos says.

“Good. The rest of work went easy too. No new breaks, but I think we’re coming close.” Athos then turns their attention to figuring out their dinner. Aramis is quiet during the negotiations but does give his two cents where needed. They send in their order to the restaurant and soon Porthos and d’Artagnan go out to pick it up, leaving Athos and Aramis to get the table set and wait.

“So, you’re close to cracking the case,” Aramis asks. He knows that Athos has purposefully left their work in silence, so he can set the conversation.

“Well, we’re not there yet, but d’Artagnan does have a good idea and we’ve been talking it out.”

“Well, hopefully, you can get somewhere with it. I’m sure Treville would be relieved to have it finished.” Aramis pauses, looking down before meeting Athos’ eyes. “I’m sorry that you’re a man down. I wish I could be there to help.”

“I wish you could too and not just because we could use your knowledge and work, but it would mean that you weren’t depressed again.”

Aramis nods, not quite settled on how to respond.

“Are you doing okay? I know that first meeting can be jarring with unexpected questions and realizations.”

“You mean that this is all happening again?” Aramis can’t help the dejected tone.

“I’m sure that it seems like that’s the case, but it’s not. This isn’t like your other times. Not even like the first one.”

“Right, it’s worse,” Aramis cuts Athos off.

“It’s not worse, ‘Mis. You’re on top of it. You know what’s coming. What to expect and how to deal with it.”

“Do I? I apparently don’t know what to do seeing as you all are taking things out of my hands.” Aramis’ voice rises as he speaks.

“We’re just trying to help,” Athos says.

“Yeah, I know. I’m just seeing things wrong. Seeing something where it’s not,” Aramis drones on. The door to the garage opens and they can hear Porthos and d’Artagnan talking as they enter. “I’m not very hungry,” Aramis says suddenly. “I’m going to head upstairs for a while.” And he leaves, just as d’Artagnan comes into the den to let them know that the food is here.

“What happened,” he asks Athos, who is left sitting on the couch.

“It wasn’t you, d’Artagnan.”

“Did he get mad again?”

“In a manner of speaking. He’s frustrated because he’s going down the same route again and it’s not a pleasant path.”

“But he’s getting ahead of it by going to see a therapist, isn’t he?”

“It all takes time and willingness from the participant. Aramis resisted therapy even when he needed it until he found the right person,” Athos explains.

“This means what?”

“It’s probably going to get worse before it gets better,” Porthos says from the doorway.


	30. An Ill-Fated Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> d'Artagnan and Aramis take the kids to the Christkindlmarket in the city, but it doesn't go as well as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm working on these next several chapters and seeing now how much of the original events will be sticking around, more tags are going to be added. If you've read other stories in this series, then you're probably aware of the types of problems that Aramis along with depression. I'll note when any of these come up in the beginning notes as a heads up to readers in case anything is triggering. In this chapter, there's a panic attack. I apologize for the sudden notice of these additions. I didn't want to add tags without being sure that something would appear in the story.
> 
> Since the kids are appearing a little more often now, I thought I'd mention their ages. Tim is 13, Ben is 10, and Meg is 5. 
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

Aramis calms down quickly but he doesn’t feel like going back downstairs for the night. When they go to bed, d’Artagnan stops by to check on him.

“Can I come in, Aramis?” d’Artagnan knocks on the door. Aramis calls out to let him come in. d’Artagnan opens the door and steps in. He finds Aramis sitting on the bed watching TV. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. I’ve barely seen you all night.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit tired and hurting. Didn’t feel like coming back down once I got settled.”

“Oh, well I missed seeing you. I think I hardly ever see you lately.”

“Well, I am on leave for the foreseeable future.”

“I know, but we are around in the evenings.”

“I haven’t been feeling well, d’Artagnan. Even sharing in the company of my brothers has been difficult with the headaches and ribs.” Aramis pauses, seeing the chagrined look on d’Artagnan’s face. “But I will try to make more of an effort, especially since the headaches have eased a lot.”

“You don’t have to force yourself if you’re not feeling well, but I hate to see you staying up here alone.”

“I understand.”

“Well, I should get to bed but your dinner is in the fridge, but if you don’t feel like going down, I did bring up a few snacks.” d’Artagnan pulls out some packages of goldfish crackers. “I know you like these.”

“Thanks. Do you mind setting them on the nightstand there?”

d’Artagnan sets the packages on the table and wishes Aramis a good night. Aramis returns the sentiment and settles back on the bed. There’s a part of him that feels guilty for staying upstairs so much over the last couple weeks, especially since the headaches and other aches had largely gone away. He still gets a headache if he does too much and he has to be careful about moving with his still-cracked ribs. Overwhelming, however, has been his annoyance with Porthos and Athos for their support of his sidelining. On the one hand, he does understand the need and knows their concern is what has driven the decisions. Still, he can’t get over it that easily.

The next couple days pass without much excitement. Aramis works on remaining awake during the day, which doesn’t go as well as he plans because he can’t settle into anything, finding the couch in the den more comfortable. Saturday, he manages to go to the Boys and Girls Club with the others, sitting with kids to help them read and do homework, but when he’s back home, he is spent and falls asleep on the couch.

The others find their way in the kitchen working on getting dinner put together.

“’Mis awake yet,” Porthos asks.

“Not when I last looked in. Freddie is sleeping with him,” Athos says. It’s not often that they have Freddie, but with Aramis growing worse not to mention home during the day, it seemed best to bring the dog back. Fortunately, while Freddie and Gracie get along, they aren’t despondent when separated.

“He’s sleeping a lot,” d’Artagnan says, worry tinging his voice.

“He’s still not been feeling well,” Porthos says. “And I think his depression is worsening more than he thinks. The exhaustion is another symptom and Aramis is particularly susceptible to it.”

“Should we wake him? If he sleeps during the day, then he won’t tonight.”

“What do you think, Athos?”

“Let him sleep,” Athos says. “We’re going to Tim’s game later and this will help him to have the energy to cheer. Besides, after being out around so many people, he’ll be ready to sleep.”

“I hope so because he’s supposed to take the kids to the Market.”

“Perhaps one of us should go along with him,” d’Artagnan suggests.

“I’m not sure he’d take that suggestion easily.”

“Maybe if I ask to come along? Or if Constance asks?”

“It might work. We’ll have to talk with him tonight.”

“He needs to go with someone other than the kids,” Porthos says. “I’m worried about him going in his state.”

“You think he’s going to have a flashback,” Athos asks.

“Possibly, but I know he also tends to be more prone to anxiety in this state.”

“True. And with those crowds and the chaos, it’s going to be worse.”

“I’ll talk with him tonight,” d’Artagnan says. “He might be willing to let me tag along considering I haven’t yet been.” Something had always conspired to keep him from going either familial obligation back home, sickness, or school.

“Good idea.” Athos knows that d’Artagnan has the best chance of the three of them seeing as he is the one Aramis hasn’t yet gotten mad at.

They finish getting dinner together before going to wake Aramis. The man is slow to wake, but he does eventually get up to join them. They eat, making idle chit chat before cleaning up to head over to Tim’s school for the basketball game. The evening goes well even though Tim’s team loses. d’Artagnan talks to Aramis about joining him and the kids on the trip to the Market tomorrow.

Aramis knows that d’Artagnan wants to come along not just because he hasn’t seen the Market, but also to keep an eye on him. He thinks about calling d’Artagnan and the others out on this and objecting to their mother-henning. But he’s actually relieved to have d’Artagnan’s company. He’s tried to find the slowest day of the week for the visit, but he worries that Sunday will be a busy day nonetheless. He still wants to go, in part not to disappoint the kids, but also to see if he can. But he’s worried about what might happen because he knows his track record.

The next day Aramis and d’Artagnan meet up with the Treville’s at the train station. The kids are excited to see them, almost jumping out of the before Treville and Sarah pull into a parking space. It’s not long after that the five of them get on the train. They buy their tickets on the train and settle in for the hour ride into Chicago. Aramis enjoys the trip, feeling his morning peak of energy and feeding off of the excitement of the children as well as d’Artagnan, who can’t hide his youthful exuberance over the trip.

Once in the city, it’s a straight walk east over the river to Daley Plaza. Aramis takes Meg’s hand and casually organizes the group so that they are behind the others. d’Artagnan walks between the boys, making sure to keep Ben close as he tends to spend more time gazing around at the city than paying attention to where he is. The closer they get, the denser the crowds get and Aramis forces himself to take a few deep breaths, remembering his training with Lemay. Meg squeezes his hand and calls out to distract him, asking about a tall building. As Aramis explains about the building he starts to calm down, absently following d’Artagnan’s pace as they move closer together in the crowd and to cross streets in front of impatient cars. The adults pull the kids in closer, even Tim, to make sure they’re not lost or taken.

And then, before they know it, they step foot on Daley Plaza and Tim is the first to catch sight of the Christmas tree, much sparser compared to past years as it’s made of a single tree rather than multiple.

“Guys, it’s the tree,” Tim calls out. “We’re here. Look, Meg. It’s the tree.” Tim turns to point out the tree to Meg, who is finding it difficult amongst the crowds of tall people to see it.

“Can you lift me up, ‘Mis,” Meg asks. Aramis pauses, thinking of his still aching ribs and the lingering bruising.

“Come here, Meg,” d’Artagnan says. “Aramis is still recovering from some injuries and we don’t want to make him hurt. I’ll give you a lift up to see.” Meg doesn’t hesitate to go to d’Artagnan, who lifts her up high enough to see the beauty of the tree if her gasp of awe is any judge.

“It’s so big, d’Artagnan,” Meg says.

“It is,” d’Artagnan agrees, setting her back on the ground. “Are you wanting to visit Santa? He should be in his house next to the tree.”

“Nah.” Meg shakes her head. “He’s not real anyway.” Tim had accidentally spilled the beans on Santa last year just after Christmas.

“Alright then, where to first?”

“Pretzels,” Ben and Tim shout together.

“Of course,” Aramis says. “After that train ride we need those stuffed pretzels. Let’s go and start our visit off right.” The pretzel stand is always their first stop and the boys start to rush off to find. “Wait up, Tim, Ben. Remember the rules.” The two stop and walk back.

“Never run off on our own,” Ben says.

“And always keep you and d’Artagnan in sight,” Tim adds.

“Good,” Aramis says. “Let’s go get the pretzels and then figure out what we want to look at today.” The kids and d’Artagnan enthusiastically agree and they head off. Tim and Ben know the flavor they want but Meg is overwhelmed by the choices. She eventually settles on a cinnamon apple pretzel and once they all have their pretzels and water, Aramis and the boys escort them over to a tent with tables. There they eat and plan their visit.

Once they’re done, they head out the door to the market again. It’s more crowded than before and Aramis can’t help but pause before they move forward.

“We’re not going to get anywhere easily as this big of a group,” d’Artagnan says. “How about we split up.”

Aramis hesitates as he looks at the crowd and their small group. “Yeah, you’re right,” he admits reluctantly.

“How about I take the boys since they’re more familiar and you take Meg seeing as she’s new.”

“You three okay with that?” Aramis turns to the kids, who nod and voice their agreement. “Okay, then we’ll meet up in an hour back in there.” He points back into the tent. With that, they go their separate ways.

Aramis has to admit that this is much easier. He and Meg move through the crowd much easier. They stop at various shops looking at toys and decorations. Nearly everything cost more than the ten dollars Meg has managed to save from doing chores, but Treville and Sarah have given her some extra money in case she needs it. Meg, to Aramis’ amusement, wants to buy everything she sets her eyes on, which is not easy considering the counter at every stall is a foot or more above her head. Aramis helps her out by picking her up, holding back the winces as it pulls on his ribs.

It’s as they’re going through a particularly narrow that Aramis loses his grip on Meg’s hand and before he knows it he’s lost sight of her. He pushes through the crowd to find her, panic growing with each angry shove and frantic call. When he’s through to the other side, staring at nothing but a portable metal fence and traffic, he grasps for his phone as he turns around and struggles to maintain his breathing.

“She’s gone,” he says when d’Artagnan picks up the phone after three long rings.

“What?” d’Artagnan pauses sensing the franticness in Aramis’ voice.

“She’s gone, d’Art. Meg. I… I can’t find her. She was here one minute and then gone. I had a hold of her hand, but she was pulled away in the crowd. I searched and searched and looked but I can’t find her. She’s gone, d’Art.”

“Aramis, first take a good, deep breathe.”

“But she’s gone, d’Art. They’re going to kill me.”

“They’re not going to kill you. Breathe.”

“I’m going to have to leave then. After I find her because I will no matter what,” Aramis says and d’Artagnan knows it to be true. Kids, in general, are of importance to Aramis, but his family’s children hold a special place and d’Artagnan is sure that he would do anything for any of the children.

“I know,” d’Artagnan says. He’s trying to keep Ben and Tim calm as they are starting to question. “But you really need to breathe, Aramis.”

“Damn it, d’Artagnan. Meg is missing,” Aramis yells. “I have to go. This is wasting time. You three look for her but don’t lose the kids, d’Artagnan. Keep hold of them.” Aramis ends the call before d’Artagnan has a chance to speak again. He resumes his frantic search, calling out for Meg while bobbing and weaving frustratingly though the slow-moving, packed crowds. The further he moves, the more he finds he’s struggling and it doesn’t help that his phone keeps ringing. He shuts it off because he has to find her.

In his search, he loses track of time and himself. He knows that he’s not feeling right, but he has to find her. He can’t lose Meg. Not her. He’s not adding to the tally.

“Sir? Sir, can you hear me?” Aramis doesn’t register the voice at first. It’s not until he can’t move forward anymore that he comes back to his senses somewhat. He blinks his eyes a few times and shakes his head to clear his thoughts, registering finally that it’s a police officer that he bumps into.

“Officer?”

“Are you Aramis?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Your friend, d’Artagnan sent me to find you. He’s back in the food tent with the kids, he says.”

“Kids? How many?”

“Three. He says he has Tim, Ben, and Meg.”

“He found her? Thanks, officer.” Aramis turns around, trying to move against the flow of people.

“This way, sir.” The officer taps him gently, having been warned of his mental state by d’Artagnan. He’s new to the force but recognized the Musketeer badge when d’Artagnan pulled it out, agreeing quickly to help him find his lost friend. Aramis is startled at first but goes along with the officer, following him close behind. When they get to the tent, Aramis looks around despite following the officer still. Several steps into the tent, he spots them and pushes past the officer and through the crowd to d’Artagnan and the kids. He sinks to his knees and gathers Meg into his arms. So busy is he with Meg that he doesn’t hear d’Artagnan talking with the police officer.

“Hey, ‘Mis, you doing okay,” d’Artagnan asks once the officer leaves. He leans down to check on his friend, who seems to still be apologizing to Meg. “Come on,” d’Artagnan says when Aramis doesn’t move. The man is shaking and breathing heavily in between his frantic apologies. “Let’s sit down and take a moment to calm down.” When Aramis doesn’t make a move, even though Tim and Ben do, d’Artagnan gently nudges him to his feet and over to the nearby table. He sits without complaint, keeping Meg next to him.

“Aramis, can you look up at me?” d’Artagnan sits on the opposite side of the table, leaning over. He takes one of Aramis’ hands in his own, rubbing gentle circles into the palm. Slowly, Aramis does look up. “Good. Now, let’s take a few deep breaths. Okay? In. And out.” He watches as Aramis, fortunately, takes some deep breaths, though they are stilted.

“You with me now,” d’Artagnan asks.

“Yeah,” Aramis says shakily. “But I lost her, d’Artagnan. I lost her.” Then he turns to Meg. “I’m sorry, Meg. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to let you go.”

“’Mis, it’s okay. It was an accident,” Meg says. “I came back here and just waited. One of the guys who works here even talked to me and helped me.”

“It’s fine, Aramis. Meg’s okay,” d’Artagnan says before Aramis can start up again. He’s worried about the man’s mental state. “She’s safe. They’re all safe.”

“Yeah,” Aramis says shakily, again. “Yeah. She’s safe. They’re safe. We’re all safe.” The words easily take on a repetitive tone.

“Tim, Ben, can you two go up to the front and buy a bottle of water.” d’Artagnan pulls out some money and gives it to the boys, who eagerly go up despite Aramis’ weak protests about being safe and not leaving the group.

“The crowds, d’Artagnan.”

“They’re safe. You can even keep an eye on them from here.” d’Artagnan points towards the from, turning to look at the front where Ben and Tim are waiting in line. He glances back a couple times to look at Aramis, who is intently watching them. “Just keep breathing, Aramis. Deep, steady breathes.”

Aramis works to breathe steadily as he watches the boys. A part of him says that they’ll be fine, but the overwhelming part says he has to go protect them. He has to keep them safe because they’re not safe out there. When he goes to stand, d’Artagnan tells him to stay.

“They’re fine. Look, they’ve got the water and they’re paying for it.” d’Artagnan wonders how the rest of the day is going to go.

“Yeah.” Aramis nods, watching them pay for the water, take the change, and then come back. He tries not to sigh loudly at their return, but he fails.

“How are you doing, Aramis,” Tim asks.

“Fine. I’m doing fine.” Aramis’ voice is steadier, but he doesn’t feel it. Still, there is an outing to be completed and he doesn’t want to ruin it for the kids or d’Artagnan. “We should get back out there. I think we have some more shopping to do and, if nothing else, some eating.”

d’Artagnan takes a good look at Aramis and while he is doing better than before, he’s still red in the cheeks and pale and his breathing has just about evened out. There’s a frantic look in general to his features but is most notable in the eyes.

“’Mis,” d’Artagnan says quietly, “can we talk for a minute?” He points to the corner of the tent a few feet away with his head.

“But…” Aramis begins, pointing to the kids.

“They’ll be fine here. Right?” d’Artagnan turns to the kids. “You three will stay right here?”

“Yes. We’ll be fine,” Tim says. He motions for Meg to sit between him and Ben so Aramis will be more at ease.

Aramis reluctantly stands and follows d’Artagnan the few feet to the corner.

“Are you sure you’re ready to go back out there,” d’Artagnan asks.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Aramis insists.

“You don’t have to. The kids will understand.” d’Artagnan has heard about the first attempt Aramis made years ago with Tim’s class.

“I’m sure they will but I’ll be fine. Now, let’s go.” Aramis doesn’t wait for d’Artagnan, going over to the kids. “You guys ready?”

As the three shout their readiness, Tim looks at d’Artagnan, who simply nods.

“Yes, let’s go,” d’Artagnan adds after a moment. With that, they make their way out of the tent and back into the crowds. Aramis forces himself not to hesitate, swallowing deeply.

They walk as a group, d’Artagnan not willing to have Aramis out of his sight. It means it’s slow going and at times they are just standing, waiting for space to move forward. Aramis doesn’t seem to notice the others stealing glances at him. He looks to be holding himself together though d’Artagnan wonders what’s going on inside.

Later Aramis won’t be able to tell the others what was going on inside or out because he is simply trying to get through the trip. He follows the others, moving, stopping when they do, and speaks when spoken to but nothing else. He knows they’re looking at him, worrying about him but he has to keep going.

It’s not until they’re sitting on the train to go home that he starts to come out of his stupor. It’s then that the number of people on the train registers. The noise hits first. Not overly loud, but still it’s loud and he can’t hear, not even his own thoughts. Or maybe it’s that he can’t hold on to one long enough to think it. Then it’s the lack of space. His family are the only ones around him but every, single seat is occupied. Down below and up top. No one is standing, but every seat is sat in. And even wedged between the window and d’Artagnan, he can feel every single one.

“’Mis.” d’Artagnan taps him gently to get his attention. Still, Aramis startles.

“Huh?”

“Here, try wearing these for a while.” d’Artagnan holds out a set of over the ear headphones, which Aramis recognizes as his travel set. He wonders who stuck them in the bag. Aramis takes them without complaint, though, knowing that he needs to keep himself grounded during the train ride and the music will help to block out the majority of the sensory distractions. He mutters a thanks and sets the headphones up, trying to focus on the music instead.

To some extent, it works. He’s at least able to keep himself on an even keel. Back home, he lets d’Artagnan drive. They first drop the kids off and Aramis doesn’t miss the worried looks or the muttered words of concern, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with them. He needs to get home and away. He’s quiet on the drive home, watching the houses pass, peering into the warmly lit windows when he could. With each passing house, he feels lonelier.

Once at home Aramis quickly helps d’Artagnan grab their bags from the car and heads in.

“How’d it go,” Porthos asks.

“Fine,” Aramis says quietly, trying to get through the greetings quickly. He removes his shoes and jacket and sets the bags on the table and heads upstairs.

“Let him go,” d’Artagnan says when Athos moves follow Aramis.

“What happened,” Athos asks.

“He lost Meg. She’s fine though. We found her quickly, but he had taken her alone through the Market and he had a panic attack. He hasn’t really recovered from it since, but he did force himself to go through the crowds after.”

“He’s going to need a quiet weekend then,” Porthos says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a Christkindlmarket in Chicago and it's quite crowded. I used to go every year, but I can't handle the crowds anymore, so we found a smaller one in a suburb. I'm sure the whole event is quite Americanized, but when I first found it as a high school student studying German it was really nice to see some representation of Germany in the US, which has all but forgotten German as a language and culture. 
> 
> The remark that d'Artagnan makes about Aramis' trip to the market with Tim's class is a story that I'm working on, but I hit major writer's block with it and so it's been collecting dust for several months now. Perhaps I'll have time to finish it this year.


	31. A Difference of Opinions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis is recovering from his outing, but the lingering issues cause concern with his friends, Porthos especially.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing because I lost track of the days when I was writing and messed up when they went to the Market so there was some fiddling to fix that. I could probably tell you exactly what day of December they went the Market because for some reason I made parts of the outline that specific.

Aramis takes the rest of the weekend plus more days to recover from the trip. Much of it he spends in his room. Sunday night Athos brings him some food knowing that he won’t want to come down for dinner.

“How’re you doing,” Athos asks, sitting down at the desk. Aramis is on his bed wearing sweats and a long-sleeved t-shirt.

“Fine.” Aramis pulls the blanket around his shoulders tighter.

“d’Artagnan told us what happened. We figured you wouldn’t want to come down for dinner, so I brought you up some things. But there’s also a plate in the fridge for you in case you want to go down once we go to bed.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Athos pauses for a moment, looking around. “You need anything?”

“Just the usual.” He shrugs his shoulders, glancing up at Athos.

“You’ll let us know if you need something. Food, drink, quiet company, a listening ear.” Athos is sure to meet Aramis’ gaze.

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You want me to go?”

“Athos,” Aramis says, an apology in his voice.

“It’s fine, Aramis. You know my first question is always what you need and right now you need solitude. Let us know if you need something. Our phones will be on all night. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Aramis doesn’t go for the snacks for a while after Athos leaves. Although he hasn’t eaten much today, the anxiety has left him shaken and lacking an appetite. Instead, he dozes as the TV plays on. In the middle of the night, he wakes, starving and finds that he actually feels like eating. He opts for the snacks as he doesn’t feel like leaving his room yet.

Between the sleeping and solitude, he starts to feel himself coming back together. He’s less on edge, less irritated by the slightest. At some point, he knows, he’ll have to leave his room. There is a level of shame he feels about shutting himself up here but he can’t help it. This, the seclusion, stabilizes him. He might be able to do it downstairs with the others around, but it would take too long and with some setbacks.

Monday morning, late morning, Treville calls him. He hesitates for a moment in answering. On the fourth ring, he picks up.

“Hello?” The hesitancy unwillingly creeps in.

“Aramis. I hope I didn’t wake you. How’re you doing today?”

“No, no you didn’t. I wasn’t asleep.” Aramis sits up a little straighter. “I should’ve called yesterday, Captain. I’m sorry for what happened with Meg. I hope she’s doing okay. It wasn’t intentional, Captain. I don’t know how it happened. I wasn’t paying close enough attention. I…”

“Aramis, stop,” Treville interrupts. “I know it wasn’t intentional. Meg did exactly what we taught her to do if she got separated or lost. And she’s okay. She’s actually quite concerned about you. We all are, in fact.”

“Me?”

“The effect her disappearance had on you didn’t go unnoticed by them. The kids want to come see you today, but I’ve told them it’s best to wait a little longer.”

“They could come by if they want.”

“Aramis, do you honestly want company right now?”

“If they want to…”

“Outside of using the bathroom, have you left your room since you got back?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean people can’t come in.”

“So, you’d be okay with each of us coming and going today? I don’t think the kids are planning on a quick visit.”

“Well, maybe not that much.”

“It’s okay, Aramis. Right now this isn’t about what the kids want. It’s about what you need. And if you need solitude, then that’s okay.”

“What I need, Captain, is to be okay. I need to be normal so I can get back to work.”

“I understand.” Treville notes Aramis’ comment about work but says nothing. “But life happens and, fortunately, work will wait. I know you don’t like when this happens, but it has and we’re here for you, wherever you need.”

“Of course.” Aramis thinks back to his last conversation with the Captain. He knows that everything the man’s done has been to help him but there is still anger from that last meeting and this tone the Captain’s taking, though familiar, is a little jarring. More than anything, he’s ready to be done with the conversation and go back to zoning out to the TV.

“Anything you need? I’m sure the boys have you well stocked with food, but anything else food or otherwise?”

“No, I think I’m good, Captain.”

“Okay.” Treville senses the familiar urgency in Aramis’ voice. “Well, let us know if we can do anything.”

Aramis thanks him and quickly ends the call. He’s not sure how to feel about Treville. On the one hand, he’s still angry with him for the decisions he made without consulting him, for not believing him, trusting him, but he also knows that Treville has always looked out for him. Not once, prior to this stalker thing, has Treville done something that harmed him. He knows that the man called in every last favor he had to speed up the clearing of his OTH discharge. He wants to believe that Treville is doing this in his best interests, but he knows what he’s seen. Having to make a decision about if he’s going to leave the Musketeers leaves his stomach unsettled and he slips back under the covers of his bed, closing his eyes as he tries to relax while the TV drones on.

He sleeps off and on until Porthos knocks. Still sleepy, he mutters something that he intends to be permission for his friend to enter, but he’s not sure what came out. Apparently, it’s enough though as he turns over, poking his head out from under the covers to see Porthos open the door enough for him to come in.

“You feeling okay,” Porthos asks. “I didn’t think you’d be sleeping in the middle of the day.”

Aramis stretches, giving Porthos a confused look as he fumbles for his phone to check the time. It’s late afternoon. He didn’t think that he’d really slept that long considering how often he woke.

“Yeah,” Aramis says. “I’m fine. Just a bit tired from yesterday still and I didn’t sleep steadily during the night.” It’s not a complete lie. Although he did sleep last night, it wasn’t restful and he’d woken feeling like he could sleep longer. Until the conversation with Treville, he’d forced himself to stay awake so he didn’t upset his sleep schedule or further interfere with his mental health.

“Oh.” Porthos pauses. “I was hoping that you were feeling better. We’re thinking about what to do for dinner. I thought you might like to come down for a bit.”

“I don’t know.”

“’Mis, it’s just the three of us. You’re comfortable with us, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but…”

“You’ve been stuck up here for a day, ‘Mis. Come on downstairs.”

“Fine.” Aramis sighs. Porthos has never quite understood this part of his anxiety. He’s never hit a point, not even when he had a bout with panic attacks, of not wanting to be around people, of needing solitude to recover. Still, he doesn’t feel like arguing, so he gets out of bed, shutting the TV off as he hunts for a hoodie to wrap up in. “So, um,” Aramis begins clearing his throat as he dresses and grabs his phone, “what are you thinking of for dinner?”

“Well, we can’t really decide. d’Artagnan wants to order out and Athos wants sandwiches.”

“And you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m surprised, Porthos.” Aramis works to put some excitement into his voice. “You normally know exactly what you want to do for a meal and we have to convince you otherwise.”

“Yeah. I thought you might be able to help with us making a decision,” Porthos says as they leave the bedroom and walk downstairs into the den.

Aramis suspects it’s more than that otherwise Porthos wouldn’t’ve come to get him from his room. For all of his understanding of Aramis’ illness and quirks, Porthos firmly believes that secluding oneself for more than a day is not good. In the past, Athos has convinced Porthos to leave him alone, but Aramis knows that Athos isn’t in the best of places himself right now.

“I’m not sure how good I’ll be. I’m not feeling much like eating anything at the moment.” Aramis couldn’t help it. Some people when they get depressed eat, others don’t and he tends towards the latter.

“There has to be something.”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan says. “Please help us decide at the very least.”

“I dunno.” Aramis takes a seat on the couch, in the corner next to Athos. Porthos remains at the door, leaning against the trim molding and d’Artagnan sits in the armchair.

“I thought you’d be hungry by now.”

“Haven’t done much.”

“Nothing at least sounds appealing,” Athos asks. He knows about Aramis’ tendency to not eat much when he was depressed and, if anything, this simply proved their point that Aramis was just depressed. “Look, let’s just do sandwiches. Later in the week, we’ll get something out.”

“Fine,” d’Artagnan reluctantly agrees.

“And if we all get in there and work, we’ll have some dinner put together before you know it.” Porthos is already through the door, standing in the hallway. Athos and d’Artagnan quickly join him, but Aramis stays where he’s at, seemingly pondering the thought of getting to his feet. “Come on, ‘Mis. It won’t take much effort with all of us working and moving around might do you some good.”

Aramis nods, not speaking, but does get to his feet, pulling the sides of the hoodie closer to his body as he shuffles out of the den, following them to the kitchen. In theory, he knows that it won’t take long. Despite d’Artagnan and Athos being hopeless cooks, the four of them work well together in the kitchen. They each know their roles and it helps them to move about with little commotion. In reality, however, the process seems like a mammoth task. Moving is a chore he doesn’t feel like completing but Porthos won’t leave him alone so he moves.

They make grilled cheese sandwiches, the smell of which turns his stomach, but he swallows the nausea and pushes on because he has to. While the sandwiches cook, Porthos heats up some tomato soup and d’Artagnan and Athos put together a fruit and vegetable assortment. It takes less than thirty minutes and contains nothing that entices Aramis’ to hunger. Still, he eats because he has to. So, he picks and pokes at his food, eating enough that he thinks they won’t notice how little it actually is.

“Make sure you eat enough,” Porthos says quietly to Aramis, who sits next to him.

“I’ve eaten all that I care to,” Aramis says, pushing the plate away. To the casual observer, the arrangement of the pieces of food look like the remains of a well-eaten meal but Porthos knows different and he hopes the others have taken notice, too so he has some support in this manner. Athos, however, looks too deep in his own mind staring blankly at his soup as he stirs it and d’Artagnan looks like he wants to flee the room if not the house. The young man had been shook up after wrangling three kids and a panicked Aramis yesterday. They’d all opted to take the day off, not just to keep an eye on Aramis, but to help d’Artagnan, if needed.

“You need to eat more.” Porthos is louder this time, hoping the others will help him out.

“Porthos, please. I can’t. I’m done.”

“You can’t let yourself get like last time.”

“It’s one fucking meal, Porthos. Leave it.” Aramis picks up his dishes and leaves the dining room. Porthos knows it’s just one meal, but that’s how it always starts. Just one meal that Aramis picks at, then another and another. Not all in a row, not at first.

“You can’t force him to eat, Porthos,” d’Artagnan says quietly. “It’s not right.”

“You haven’t seen him at his worst. You don’t know what it’s like. We have to take care of this while we’re ahead, right Athos?”

“I’m not going to fight you on this, Porthos, but you know what happens with this approach,” Athos answers blandly before taking his dishes into the kitchen.

“What?” d’Artagnan looks at Athos’ retreating back back to Porthos, confusion clear. He’s only been here for a couple of Aramis’ bouts with his illnesses, the most notable being last year on the five-year anniversary of the massacre.

“And where do you stand on this,” Porthos asks looking d’Artagnan directly in the eyes.

“I… I…. What? I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“What’s going on,” Athos begins, walking back out with a kitchen towel in his hands and a tired look on his face, “is our eternal debate on how to deal with a depressed Aramis.”

“Debate? I thought you two were a united front in this. Both on the same page, type stuff as you look out for his best interest.”

“Mostly we are, but there are some parts that we don’t agree on.”

“Like the eating.”

“You shouldn’t waste food and you shouldn’t turn down a meal when it’s there,” Porthos says quietly, but firm.

“So, we change the routine for him. We did before,” Athos says. He knows where Porthos’ attitude is coming from. Porthos grew up poor with his mother raising him as his siblings effectively as a single parent. His father tried to send home money when he could, but he had little to spare. Food stamps and WIC could only feed a family of his size so much. Being the only African-American family in a town of little over a thousand didn’t help either. The racism wasn’t overt, but they were always held with a level of suspicion because they came from Chicago, part of the public housing migration of the late 1990s.

“That’s not going to help. It didn’t last time and it won’t this time.”

“Well, it’s not like your method’s going to work either,” Athos says hotly. He pauses and takes a calming breath when he sees the hurt look on Porthos. “Look, Porthos, I know you mean well, but you’re just going to turn him away if you keep trying to make him eat when he doesn’t want to.”

“So, we let him get underweight, again?”

“Now, we don’t know that’s going to happen. He’s seeing a therapist much sooner this time and I’m sure she’ll start to notice if that happens.”

“We don’t know that she’s like Lemay though.”

“But she comes highly recommended and Frice hadn’t heard anything but good news about her.”

“I know, I know.”

“Hey, guys,” d’Artagnan hesitantly breaks in. “Seeing as how Aramis has gone through this before, how about trusting him to take care of some of these things? I mean, isn’t it like car accidents or something. He doesn’t want to get in a bad spot, so he’s going to make sure he doesn’t.”

“Mental illness doesn’t quite work that way, d’Artagnan,” Athos says. “He knows he doesn’t want to go down this path again. We know he doesn’t, but he can’t help himself. He can do things to mitigate it, but sometimes that’s not enough.”

“Right, so we have to do things to stop it,” Porthos says. “Because he can’t. He can’t see the forest for the trees, so to speak.”

“Okay, but maybe talk to him before you make all of these decisions.” d’Artagnan picks up his dishes and goes to the kitchen. “Think about what you’d want him to do,” d’Artagnan says before he leaves.

Porthos sighs, sinking into the chair. “Are we doing things wrong?”

“I don’t know, Porthos. This is the big one we’ve feared. The one we didn’t know how to plan for.”

“You make me sound like a disaster,” Aramis says quietly from the hallway entrance to the dining room. “Am I really that bad?”

“No,” Porthos says quickly.

“How long have you been listening,” Athos asks.

“I never went upstairs. I was cleaning in the kitchen then I got tired and sat down.” Aramis shifts against the door frame. “I didn’t know this was how you two felt. I’m sorry that I’m a burden. That my illnesses have wrecked so much havoc. Please don’t concern yourselves with them anymore. I’m sure I can handle them myself seeing as I’m getting treatment sooner.”

“’Mis,” Porthos says, standing.

“No, I’m glad to know this.” Aramis’ voice wavers. “I think I’m heading to bed early. I’ll see you three tomorrow.” With that, Aramis leaves. Athos and Porthos remain frozen as they listen to him walk up the steps and shut the door with a quiet snick.

“What’re we going to do, Athos,” Porthos asks with a heavy voice. Athos looks at him, feeling an urge to yell but not able to summon the energy.

“For tonight, Porthos, clear your dishes.” Athos hands him the dish towel and disappears out the same door that Aramis stood in seconds ago and heads upstairs. Porthos waits a moment before gathering up his dishes and taking them into the kitchen. Together, he and d’Artagnan work to clear the remaining dishes and clean up the kitchen.

“You think I’m wrong,” Porthos asks as they’re putting the last dishes in the dishwasher. “You can tell me the truth,” he adds when d’Artagnan is silent. “I’m not going to bite.”

“You sure about that,” d’Artagnan finally asks.

“Yes.”

“Yet you’re mad at Aramis because he won’t eat.”

“I’m not mad.” Porthos takes a breath. “I’m frustrated. He’s going down such a familiar path and there’s little we can do to stop it, especially when he doesn’t want to.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t want to go down this path.”

“No, but it’s like he can’t help himself and neither can we.”

In a sense, d’Artagnan understands Porthos’ frustration. The man is effectively the patriarch of their little household. He keeps them together and helps to solve their problems. But with Aramis’ mental health, he’s confronted with a problem that can’t be solved so easily. The solution to Porthos, d’Artagnan sees, is tackling the visible signs like the lack of eating.

“What if we just tried to do things normally for a while,” d’Artagnan asks. He knows that he doesn’t have the level of experience as the others do. Growing up, the closest he remembers getting to someone with a mental illness was a distant relative with bipolar disorder who showed up to a family reunion when he was ten and had died soon after from something his parents had never told him about.

“Normal?” Porthos is easily skeptical of the idea.

“Yes, normal and we get Aramis involved as much as possible. We’ll have our usual tree decorating party and do things that bring us together. We need Aramis to see that he’s still a part of this family and maybe it’ll help.”

“It might.” It might also backfire, Porthos thinks. He knows how tense Aramis gets in social situations when his PTSD is acting up.

“Just family, though,” d’Artagnan says, seeing the doubt in Porthos’ eye. “Just the Treville’s and Constance.”

“Constance?” Porthos doesn’t mind her inclusion, but he is curious about the younger man’s mentioning of her.

“Not for me, for Aramis.” d’Artagnan wishes they’d all leave that idea alone. He asked her about dating and she said she wasn’t interested. As much as he loves her, he’s not going to be a jerk and pursue her relentlessly until she caves or he gets fired for harassment. He’s not that kind of guy. “They’re good friends. In fact, why don’t we see if she needs help with her exams. I know they’re coming up and Aramis helped me a lot with mine.”

“It’d be better for him than sitting around here day after day.”

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow about it.” d’Artagnan closes up the dishwasher and leans against the counter once he sets the machine to start running. “So about tonight? Do we just let them be or talk to them?”

“Let them be,” Porthos says with a sigh. “I think for tonight we just let them be. Tomorrow’s another day and it might look better than today.”


	32. A Forgotten Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Aramis continues to trudge through the days, the others struggle with how to help him and in their efforts someone winds up forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a couple weeks, I'm back with another chapter. Apologies for the delay. Writing hasn't come easily for a bit so getting enough words to a page to constitute a chapter took some time. But, here it is. Hope you all enjoy.
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

The next couple weeks go as well as they expect. Aramis continues to go to his appointments, which they alternate in making sure he gets to. After hearing about his anxiety episode at the Market, Leslie prescribes an as-needed anti-anxiety medication. Aramis doesn’t know when he’s really going to have need for it because he has no ambitions to go outside the door of their house lately. Still, he takes it when he needs it because Leslie seems insistent on having it as a backup and she seems to know her stuff.

They have their annual tree decorating party as well, with the four of them plus Constance going out to cut down a tree. Normally, they use an artificial tree because they are busy and don’t have time to ensure that a real one is properly taken care of. But d’Artagnan suggests a live tree this year as a way to potentially cheer up Aramis.

Aramis goes along with the festivities reluctantly. He dozes on the ride to the tree farm and languidly moves through the steps to help get the snacks ready and then the tree decorated. Not even the energy of the three Treville kids is enough to keep him from dozing.

“It’s been hard sleeping at night,” he says when Constance questions him about his exhaustion during one of their study sessions. He knows that the others arranged these sessions and though he’s miffed with them, he won’t take it out on Constance. Truthfully, it has been nice to have her stopping by a few times a week. Though Sarah and the kids do come by, the kids can get rather rambunctious and lately all he’s wanted is some quiet time.

Constance, for her part, is somewhat surprised by this subdued Aramis. She’s careful not to draw attention to it, however, remembering how Paul, her younger brother, never liked attention to be drawn to his problems, which were somewhat similar to Aramis’. So, she treats Aramis normally because nothing really is different about him.

At work she overhears the others talking about him, finding their conversations about Aramis both encouraging and frustrating. Whereas Porthos is the quickest to express irritation with Aramis, d’Artagnan tries to keep the peace. There are a few occasions where they nearly grill her for information. The last one comes the Thursday before Christmas. They catch her in the afternoon in the break room where she is leaning against the counter. They are missing Athos, who apparently has Aramis wrangling duties today, as she’s heard them refer to taking Aramis to his appointment.  

“How’s the studying going,” d’Artagnan asks, coffee mug in hand with a fresh batch of hot chocolate made up. He’s tried the coffee thing, but he really can’t take the bitter taste.

“Fine,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee. “Aramis really is as knowledgeable as you’ve said, not that I’m surprised. Though, I had thought he might’ve forgotten some of the material.”

“He keeps it fresh by volunteering as a tutor at the university.” Porthos leans against the counter next to Constance.

“And by helping cadets study,” d’Artagnan says.

“He did happen to mention something about almost having to tie you down to get you to study,” Constance says with a smile.

“I wasn’t used to so much stillness. We did better once we started going on walks while he quizzed me.”

“How is the case going?”

“I think we’re close. Right, Porthos?”

“Yeah,” Porthos says somewhat absently before shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “We’re pretty sure we finally got our man, we just have to find a link before we can make a move.”

“I’m sure Treville will be happy to hear that,” Constance says.

“He should. It’s been taking us a long time to work through the case, but we are a man down,” d’Artagnan says.

“Well, I can say that he’s not entirely happy about being stuck at home.”

“I’m sure. How’s he doing otherwise,” Porthos asks.

“I’d think that you two would know better.” Constance is thrown by the question.

“He’s been rather quiet around us,” d’Artagnan says, mildly embarrassed.

Constance pauses as she considers a response. Aramis is different now. That much she’s noticed but it seems that he’s more talkative with her. If that’s because they’re studying, she’s not sure, but he doesn’t look to be unhappy while talking with her.

“Unless he’s in danger, I’m not going to inform you of his health. I understand that things are rocky between the four of you, but don’t bring me into this. I’m not your informant.”

“Constance, that wasn’t my intent,” Porthos says.

“Really?” She looks at him, eyebrows raised in question.

“Okay, yes, but it wasn’t why we suggested that you study with him.” Porthos sighs. “He’s just fallen so quickly and deeply since he’s been on leave, Constance. And there’s very little that we, I seem to be able to do to help. I do try to talk with him, we all do and we get very little in response, especially about his health.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t ask him directly about it. Ask him how he’s doing but don’t quiz him over his health unless there’s something you’ve noticed. Treat him like you normally would because there’s really nothing different about him except he more tired and quiet than usual.”

“I know but…” Porthos begins.

“There’s no buts about it, Porthos,” Constance admonishes. “He doesn’t want to be in poor health any more than you want him to be. The more you poke at him about it, the more he’s going to pull away from you. Trust me on this one. I know from experience.” This time, Constance leaves, quickly topping off her coffee mug.

“I think she’s got a point, Porthos,” d’Artagnan says taking Constance’s spot in leaning against the counter.

“That’s easier said than done,” Porthos says firmly and leaves.

“Okay,” d’Artagnan admits, following Porthos as they go back to their desks. “But we should at least do something.”

“Like what? He hardly will spend any time around us. The most was for the tree decorating and he barely got through that.”

“But what would we do if this was a physical injury? Like he’d been hurt really bad. We’d help him, wouldn’t we? Make some allowances for the injury and keep him engaged in things?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Well, I know that we usually work Christmas because most everyone else has children, but what if we don’t this year. You know how much Aramis loves Christmas. He’d love to have us all home for the day. We could even see about the Treville’s coming over. Maybe let the kids stay over on Christmas Eve.”

“We’d have to work New Year’s and the next holiday or two for that.”

“Sure, but I think it’s worth giving Aramis a little cheer.”

“And if he doesn’t find it as enjoyable?”

“Then he doesn’t, but he knows that we’ve made an effort.” d’Artagnan shrugs his shoulders.

“Alright. You give Athos a call and I’ll go run it by the Captain.”

“You think Athos will have a problem with it?”

“No,” Porthos says. “He probably won’t. He’s been quite caught up in his own problems or he’d have probably thought about it himself.”

Athos’ answer to d’Artagnan’s call is bored sounding at first but as the younger man explains their idea, his tone turns forced.

“Something wrong, Athos,” d’Artagnan asks. Perhaps he doesn’t like that they’ve gone ahead and talked with Treville.

“No, nothing. It’s a great idea, d’Artagnan. I’m sure Aramis will be happy. Would you like me to tell him?” Athos notes the monotonous voice but he’s working to hold himself together.

“No. We’d like for it to be a surprise. Are you sure, Athos? You don’t sound okay.”

On the other end, Athos pinches himself and swallows. “Just a long day, d’Artagnan.” And it’s not entirely a lie. “I need to go. Aramis is coming.”

Athos quickly ends the call and tries to keep himself under control. Aramis won’t be out for another ten minutes, but he hopes that d’Artagnan won’t notice the discrepancy. It hasn’t just been a long day. It’s been a long several weeks with Aramis not improving, Porthos barely keeping himself from getting angry, and d’Artagnan playing peacekeeper. In all of the drama of the last few weeks, he wonders how much they’ve noticed him. He’s tried to stay involved but he can’t help keeping to himself either by isolating himself in the den or staying up in his room.

It’s times like these that he really hates having functional depression. Where Aramis’ depression is visible in the way that he acts and slowly shuts down, Athos trudges through each day with little outward signs even to his closest friends, apparently.

He loses himself in the downward spiral of negative thoughts until Aramis comes out, lightly clearing his throat to get Athos’ attention. Athos swallows and puts himself back together before looking up at Aramis.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Aramis says. “I just need to go by the pharmacy to pick up a couple prescriptions.”

“One for the inhaler, right? And the other one?” Athos grabs his phone and stands.

“An anti-depressant. Leslie thinks it’s time to start on one since I’m not getting better quicker. She’s concerned.” They walk in silence as they go down to the pharmacy on the first floor. Aramis picks up his prescriptions and they head out to the car. Sitting in the driver’s seat, Athos can’t help but sigh. He doesn’t really feel like driving through rush hour traffic just to get back to that claustrophobic house.

“Athos,” Aramis asks quietly after a few moments of silence.

“It’s nothing, Aramis.” Athos turns the car on and starts to back out. Even getting out of the parking lot takes time. Finally, he gets onto the roads and slowly winds his way to the interstate. He curses when someone cuts him off and hits the steering wheel when the light turns red.

“Head to the station, Athos,” Aramis says quietly.

“You can’t go in. You’re on leave. Treville has all but banned you.” Athos is more terse than usual, but he’s trying to keep his emotions in check. There’s little use in getting angry with Aramis. The man didn’t ask for depression. Or for friends who would change their schedule for him.

“I know.” Aramis doesn’t have the energy to rise to Athos’ tone. “But we can park the car there safely and catch the train back.”

“You really shouldn’t be out in the cold and wind that long. Not with the extra asthma troubles you’ve been having.”

“I have a scarf and, more than my asthma, you’re not in a good state to drive. Do you deny it,” Aramis challenges when Athos glares at him.

Athos sighs heavily and heads in the direction of the station. The drive is quiet save for the sounds of the traffic and Athos tries to keep himself from getting angry again. Athos parks in the underground lot and the two of them begin their walk to Oglivie Station to pick up the train home.

“So, you want to talk about what’s wrong,” Aramis asks a few minutes into their walk, pulling down his scarf to be heard.

“No and put your scarf back up around your mouth,” Athos answers blandly.

“Something’s wrong, Athos, and you need to stop bottling it up. I know you’re not talking with the others about it, so talk to me. If you do, I’ll even put my scarf back up over my mouth.”

“’Mis,” Athos says exasperated.

“Talk. Tell me what’s going on that’s got you so irritated.”

Athos opts to ignore Aramis, which works until he steps in a puddle of ice-cold water, soaking not only his foot but a few inches up on his ankle. Athos curses the lack of road repair and the cold weather.

“Athos?” Aramis turns to help him.

“It’s you,” Athos yells, throwing the other man’s hands off of him as he works to steady himself.

“What?”

“You, Aramis. It’s you that’s got me irritated.”

Aramis freezes, wanting partly to run and partly to sink right there to the cold ground and ponder what this means.

“Come on, Aramis. We need to keep going.” Athos takes a hold of Aramis’ upper arm, gently guiding him to move.

“No.” Aramis pulls away, out of Athos’ grasp.

“Yes, we need to go. Here’s not the place to discuss this.”

“Agreed. But you’re not sitting on a train for an hour with a wet sock. I don’t care how you feel about me, I’m not letting that happen. Now, there’s a Walgreens up ahead where we can at least get you a dry sock or we can call Constance to come pick us up.”

“Constance probably just got home.”

“You know she’d come back out for us.”

“Yes, but let’s not make her. She’s very busy right now and if she knows about this then she’s going to make us stay for a while and won’t get anything productive done.”

“Walgreens it is then. Let’s go.”

It’s not a long walk to the Walgreens but with a wet shoe, it feels longer. Athos is miserable by the time they get there and allows himself to be led around by Aramis, who first grabs socks and then picks up a cheap pair of snow boots.

“Not those,” Athos objects weakly. They’re simple black nylon boots with a rubber sole and Velcro latch. Their only positive is that they’re cheap.

“Would you rather the Spiderman ones? I’m not quite sure you can fit them. These are in your size and they’re dry. Now, let’s go.” Aramis takes the items to the register and pays for them. As he explains Athos’ predicament, he hands Athos the bag to take care of his wet shoe. When he’s done, Athos has changed socks on both feet because it feels better and slips into the hideous black boots, velcroing them shut.

“You good now?” Aramis turns to him.

“Yeah.” Athos picks up the bag with the socks and shoes.

“Let’s go get some coffee then.”

“No. Home, Aramis. We need to get back home.”

“No need. d’Artagnan texted to find out what was up and I let him know we’d be home a little later. Now, let’s go. I know a quiet place where we can talk. The owner knows me.”

Athos gives in and follows Aramis, finding the stiffness of his boots awkward. He tries to block out the scratchiness as they walk to this coffeehouse. As they’ve discovered over the past several years, Aramis knows a random assortment of restaurateurs from his time on the streets. Each would give him food and drink for a week or two until Aramis was run out of the area by other homeless people, gangs, or teenagers with little else to do.  

The coffeehouse is nearly empty when they get there, save for a few tired students who haven’t given up the ship yet with studying. Athos is hesitant to drink coffee this late in the day given his insomnia lately, but in the end, he finds he doesn’t care. He’s had a shitty day and right now he wants the soothing taste of coffee. Aramis pays for their drinks, despite Marco, the owner, trying to refuse, and adds a generous tip before they go wander upstairs. It’s closed off right now, but Aramis explained their need for a quiet area and Marco was more than happy to let them go up.

The second floor is mostly windows with a large, cushioned bench seat running the length of the windows on three sides of the building. There are wooden posts, padded, that divide up the space. The rest of the space is taken up with a variety of comfortable seats from the mature to the juvenile. They sit by the windows.

“So, you’re irritated with me?” Aramis reclines back into a wooden post.

Athos would like to forget that he blurted that out, but he knows that Aramis won’t give up. He sighs and mimics Aramis’ posture, leaning against the opposite wooden post.

“It’s not so much you, but more everything,” Athos explains.

“Everything? Can you be a little more specific? You were mostly fine before my appointment. What happened while I was in there?”

“d’Artagnan called to see how you were doing.” It’s not a complete lie, but Athos does feel bad. Still, as angry as he is, he won’t spoil their surprise for Aramis.

“I’m sorry, Athos,” Aramis says after a sigh. “Everything’s been so focused on me lately, we’ve forgotten about you.”

“It’s okay, Aramis. Your situation is much more immediate.”

“I might be in more trouble, but that doesn’t mean your situation is any less important.” Aramis pauses. “I can’t even say that I was busy, but I don’t know what I’ve really been doing this past month. What do you need, Athos?”

Truthfully, Athos didn’t know. The initial irritation has already faded. Part of it is Aramis’ reaction to his anger, the way he took charge felt nice, but also he doesn’t have the energy.

“Nothing. This is good.”

“I mean it. Do you need a break? A listening ear?”

“At some point, yes, but right now I’m good.”

“Okay.” They’re both quiet for a few moments, drinking their coffee and watching people walk past on their way home. It’s long been dark out making their spot in the coffeehouse seem all the more comfortable and warm. “What else is wrong,” Aramis asks quietly.

“It’s the usual. The cycle that never seems to go away. How many times have I been down this route and I know it’ll pass but it never seems like it.”

“I’m guessing you’ve been seeing your therapist and following the plan you’ve developed with him?”

“Yeah. I know it takes time, but I expected something to give by now.”

“Maybe try something new?” Aramis shrugs his shoulders.

“Such as?”

“New therapist?”

“Who? Yours?” Athos tries not to sound dismissive. He’s been with his therapist for years and isn’t ready to switch.

“She’s not that bad. Better than I thought.”

“Is she helping you?” Aside from a few questions, he hasn’t asked Aramis much about the new therapist and how it was going. Instead, he’s taken to just watching, finding silent observation both easier and a helpful indicator of Aramis’ mental state. He hasn’t seen much progress in the last month and while that’s not surprising given how long it can take for therapy to make tangible progress, he had hoped that there might be some sign. Instead, today, this evening is the most animated he’s seen Aramis in weeks. Even at their tree decorating party, he’d been quiet and lethargic, dozing off at least a couple times.

“Yeah. I think so. She’s a lot like Lemay.”

“That’s good.” She, in fact, is Lemay’s replacement and Athos is glad that they found someone with a similar approach as Lemay was well liked. Athos lets the conversation die then, not knowing what else to say and enjoying the coziness of the space.

They’ve been done with their coffee for a while when Athos asks if Aramis is hungry.

“No. I had something this afternoon before my appointment,” Aramis answers. “But we should find somewhere to get you something. Marco might still have some food in the cases. I didn’t see much when we came in, though, and it’s probably mostly pastries and muffins.”

“It’s fine. We’ll see what he has on the way out and if nothing else, pick up something at the station before we head back, which we should do soon.”

Aramis agrees, surprised that it is nearly eight. At this rate, it’ll be past ten before they get home. Without delay, they pick up their coffee mugs and head downstairs. Marco and the few employees left are in the process of cleaning and unfortunately have sold out completely of all of their baked goods.

“Thanks anyway,” Athos says. “Come on, ‘Mis. We’ll pick up something before we get on the train.”

It’s not a long walk to the station but it is cold. Once at the station, Athos opts for Popeye’s because even though he’s not hungry, he knows he needs something substantial and it’s one of Aramis’ favorite restaurants, so he hopes to entice the man into eating some of his meal. It works, though Aramis is hesitant at first, but slowly, he starts eating more. He doesn’t eat as much as usual, but it’s something because Athos is mostly certainly that Aramis didn’t eat before his appointment.

Athos doesn’t like that Aramis is lying to them again, but he won’t call him out on it. Not yet. Aramis hadn’t really specified when he ate before his appointment and getting into an argument, as Athos knew it would come to be, over such a minor point would destroy any of the rebuilding they had accomplished today. As irritated as he had been earlier, he’s somewhat grateful that it did surface because it’s brought him back a bit to Aramis. Though they both suffer from depression, their depressions are different. Whereas Athos will continue to trudge through each day, Aramis will seclude himself, pulling further and further away from them all as his mind tells him that he can only rely on himself.

As well as the evening has gone, they are both tired when they get home around eleven. Porthos and d’Artagnan meet them at the station so they don’t have to walk home. But once there, they both head to bed without much conversation with the others. They let them know the basics of the situation but that’s all before they leave. Athos goes to bed easier and with a slightly lighter heart than past nights, comforted in the knowledge that the bonds haven’t been broken yet.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas comes as does the others' surprise, but is Aramis up for it all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late posting. I forgot about posting and then when I realized I'd forgotten, I had too many other things to take care of. So, here's the next chapter. Thanks for reading.
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

The few days before Christmas are quiet around the Inseparables household. Aramis doesn’t immediately slip back into secluding himself. By Sunday afternoon, Christmas Eve, he’s down in the den with them, though quiet. They’ve had a quiet morning in advance of an afternoon spent baking. Some of it is in advance of the kids coming over for the night, though they will be doing some baking together, and some for tomorrow.

“The butter should be softened up by now,” Porthos says, checking the time. “We ready to get started?”

d’Artagnan responds eagerly, whereas Athos is less enthused and Aramis is quiet, staring at the TV. Porthos shuts it off and calls to Aramis.

“What?” Aramis jumps slightly, looking up at Porthos.

“You good to start baking?”

“Yeah.” Aramis nods and pushes himself to his feet. This is one of their few baking sessions of the holiday season. Normally, they would’ve had more and there’d be a steady supply of baked goods in containers in the kitchen, but Aramis hadn’t had the energy. He doesn’t really today, but he knows that he can’t simply sit while the others work. Not only will he feel guilty, but the others will also start to worry more.

He feels overwhelmed at the start with the amount of baking even though he knows that with the others helping, it won’t take as long or be as much work. As the afternoon wears on, he doesn’t quite get into it as he would have, but it doesn’t take nearly as much effort to seem as though he’s enjoying himself.

When the doorbell rings around six, he finds he’s lost track of time and that they’re nearly done. d’Artagnan goes to open the door as he’s the only one with clean hands. Aramis hears the kids before he sees them. He hears their happy greeting and then hurried footsteps through the living room into the kitchen. He hasn’t seen them much since the Market and, truthfully, he’s nervous.

It doesn’t seem to bother the kids much though as the three of them left in the kitchen are soon greeted with cries of happiness and hugs. As further greetings and hugs are exchanged, d’Artagnan, Sarah, and Treville join them, sleeping bags and backpacks in hand.

“You three ready for a fun night,” Porthos asks.

“Yeah,” the kids say in near unison.

“I think that you’ll also need these.” Treville holds up the backpacks, which have the kids’ clothes and other essentials. “Because I really hope you’re getting a good night of sleep.” He knows that his comment won’t prevent them from letting the kids stay up late. It never does.

“There’s also a box in the hallway,” Sarah says.

“I’ll go get it,” Meg says loudly, running out of the kitchen.

“Be careful with it and don’t try to open it.”

Aramis knows that it’s presents for the kids’ stockings, which they’ll take care of once the kids have gone to bed. d’Artagnan takes the box from Meg and sticks it in the pantry for later. Once Treville and Sarah leave, they get dinner, which is comprised of snacks, though the adults make sure that the kids at least eat some fruits and vegetables along with the array of cheese, crackers, cookies, and other snacks available. As they snack, they continue baking. The night ends with everyone in sleeping bags on the floor of the den with Christmas films playing.

For Aramis and Athos the night is long and they spend it watching movies until they manage to drift off in the early dawn. Not long after, it feels, they’re woken by Meg first, who is far more awake than the rest of them. Porthos manages to convince her to lay back down for a little longer, but Aramis can’t get back to sleep, so he opts to get up.

Out in the kitchen, getting coffee going, he hears footsteps behind him but they’re lighter than expected. He turns to find it’s Ben who’s followed him out into the kitchen. Without more than a good morning, he climbs into a seat next to him at the island. As much as he likes all of the kids, Aramis is glad that it’s Ben who’s followed him because the boy is much quieter than the others. He sets the kettle on a burner to get water boiling.

“You’re up quite early,” Aramis says. “Did you sleep okay?” Ben looks like he could do with at least another couple hours of sleep.

“Yeah until Meg got up.”

“I think she’s back to sleeping and, if not, then send her out here. You should try to get some more sleep. Today’s a long day.” They’d be spending their late morning and early afternoon helping at a shelter before coming home to get dinner ready. Porthos and d’Artagnan couldn’t keep their secret any longer about getting Christmas off and told him early in the weekend. It was d’Artagnan who first spilled the beans much to Porthos’ amusement.

“I’m not tired. I tried, but I couldn’t go back to sleep,” Ben says, drawing a pattern on the table with his finger.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Are you and Athos okay?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You two didn’t talk much yesterday and you weren’t very happy. Not like usual anyway. And you were up really late watching movies.”

Aramis sighs. “We’re about as okay as we can be at the moment.”

“That doesn’t seem like it’s very good.”

“No, it’s not.” Trust a ten-year-old to be so damn perceptive, Aramis thinks.

“Are you going to get like before? Like our first Christmas together?”

“I’m trying not to, Ben. I really am.” He is on a couple of medications now. An anti-depressant and an as-needed anxiety medication, which has become more than occasionally used. He hasn’t noticed much positive change, but it takes time, he knows.

“That’s good. And Athos?”

“He’s trying, too. It’s just hard, Ben. We didn’t ask for this and we can’t choose when it comes.” Aramis turns to get the kettle, which is now ready, grabbing a mug and the box of tea bags for Ben to choose from. As Ben sorts through the find the flavor he wants, Aramis sets the kettle on a trivet on the island and pours himself a cup of coffee. When he returns to his seat, Ben’s tea is brewing.

“Now, tell me, Ben, how are you doing? How’s gymnastics going?” Aramis wants to shift the conversation to something happier because Ben shouldn’t be worrying so much about him. Ben seems reluctant to make the conversation switch at first, but the more Aramis asks him questions, the easier it goes.

As they’re talking and drinking, the others start to wake and drift into the kitchen. The kids get tea and the adults coffee, except d’Artagnan who finds himself a packet of hot chocolate. Eventually, cereal and fruit are pulled out for breakfast. By the time they need to leave for volunteering, everyone’s showered, dressed, and ready to go. They split themselves between the two cars with d’Artagnan and Porthos driving.

Treville and Sarah meet them at the homeless shelter, one that Aramis went to when he was homeless. It’s a drive, but the holiday makes the traffic a little better and the weather is good. The owner is happy to see Aramis. They don’t volunteer here every Christmas, but Aramis does regularly come back to volunteer on his own.

They work until about mid-afternoon and then head back to the Inseparables’ house. Aramis dozes on the way home, tired from the day’s activities and lack of sleep during the night. Still, he joins them in the kitchen to get dinner prepared. He doesn’t want to but knows that he should.

Sarah returns with Tim and Ben with the presents in tow about the same time Constance arrives, carrying a few containers of food.

“How’d things go today,” Constance asks.

“Busy, but good,” Sarah says, jugging a stack of smaller boxes as they make their way in the house. “You?”

“I think I spent all day on the phone and skyping with my family. They were disappointed not to have me back but were happy that I have friends here.”

“Well, you’re welcome here anytime, but I hope that you’re able to see your family soon.”

“It doesn’t always feel all that different being here, really,” Constance says, thinking about her younger brothers. She is the only girl amongst her siblings.

“I’m sure.” Sarah hands her packages off to Ben, who takes them to the tree. “Let’s see how the men are getting along in the kitchen.” Though Aramis and Porthos are quite good cooks, she knows that getting the four of them together can sometimes get a bit rowdy. Jean was in there helping, but he could only do so much to keep them under control. They walk into the kitchen to find Aramis and Treville in the middle of a somewhat heated conversation.

“Why does everyone insist on asking how I’m doing?” Aramis throws his hands up. Sarah sees that he looks worse than before. She hadn’t really noticed it yesterday, but today he looks tired and drawn. “All day today, everyone asked. Every time I turn around, it’s one of you asking me.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Treville counters.

“Okay, well, maybe not asking but giving me looks and making sure that I do things to take care of myself. You all treat me like a child. You trust Meg more than me!”

“Gentlemen,” Sarah says, voice raised slightly. It has the effect she wants as they all stop and turn to her. “Jean, Aramis, let’s just focus today on having everyone here. There’ll be plenty of time tomorrow to discuss these issues. Okay?”

“Of course,” Treville says while Aramis reluctantly nods his agreement.

“Good. Now, how are things going?”

“Nearly there,” Porthos says, checking on the pot of boiling potatoes.

“Where can we help,” Constance asks.

“Start taking dishes out to the table?”

“We can start here,” Aramis says, pointing to an array of dishes on the island. He, Sarah, and Constance each take a couple dishes and start arranging them on the dining room table, which has been expanded to seat the large group. There’re a couple random chairs that have been added to fit everyone.

It’s on the third trip when Constance and Sarah are in the kitchen waiting on Athos and d’Artagnan to finish with a couple dishes, that they hear a dish hit the ground with a thunk and clattering. Just as they arrive to find out what’s happened, Aramis yelps and pulls his hand back, holding it with his other hand.

“Did you cut yourself,” Porthos asks.

“I’m fine,” Aramis hisses. “I can take care of it.” He goes back to picking up the shards of the ceramic dish. Blood immediately stars dripping again, leaving drops and smudges on the shards of ceramic and food.

“Aramis,” Constance begins quietly, “let me help you okay? You need to get your hand taken care of first. Let them take care of this mess.”

“I can clean up my own mess.”

“I know but let them this time. Okay?”

Aramis finally concedes, nodding. Constance gives him space to get to his feet, hoping that the others would do the same. By now the whole household is there, including the dogs.

“I’ll help him get this taken care of,” she says as she follows Aramis out of the dining room. “Why don’t you guys work on finishing up dinner?” She hopes that’s enough to get them to back off. The last thing she knows Aramis wants is more attention. Fortunately, the only ones who follow are the dogs, having been pushed away from the fallen food and more interested in what’s going on with Aramis. In the downstairs bathroom, they close off the door to keep the dogs from getting in the way and Aramis gets started on washing the cut or cuts as she notices once his hand is clean, while she gets out the first aid kit.

“Let me see what you have here,” Constance says and waits on him to offer up his hand. He does, revealing two cuts on his thumb and index finger.

“They don’t look too bad,” Aramis says as Constance carefully prods the cuts.

“No. I don’t think they need stitches either, so that’s good news.”

“That is good because I don’t want to do anything more to mess up the day.”

“You haven’t messed up anything, Aramis.” She pulls out a stack of gauze pads, taking a few to wrap around each cut. “Hold this.” She has him hold the gauze on his index finger, moving forward a bit as he sits on the toilet seat lid.

“Certainly feels that way.” He sinks down, back hunched as he waits for the bleeding to stop.

“You dropped one dish. How is that messing things up?”

“It’s just a collection of things, I guess.”

“Do you need a break from things? It’s been pretty much nonstop activity and I doubt you’ve had much time away from the kids and your brothers for the past day.”

“No, I think I’m fine. Besides, leaving will only cause more problems.”

“Their problems, not yours.” She checks the bleeding, which seemed to be slowing down finally. Rummaging through the medkit with her free hand, she finds what she needs to start bandaging the cuts.

“That’s easy to say from your position.”

“True.” She’s quiet for a bit as she works. “Aramis, you know that if you want or need a break from being here, I have a spare room that’s all yours.”

“Thanks. I might take you up on the offer at some point but for now, things are manageable here. Hopefully, it’ll start getting better.”

“Oh?”

“I’m hoping that the therapy starts working. I know it’s only been a month, but she’s taking an aggressive approach to hopefully keep me from falling further.”

“So, you like her?”

“I wasn’t sure at first, but she’s really good. She can be a bit pushy about some things and I don’t always like talking about the stuff she wants me do, but she knows when to back off.”

“So, is she better than Lemay?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Constance is surprised. Lemay had been a perfect psychologist as she’d been told. No one had been better than him and they’d tried nearly everyone from the way they told the story. Lemay’s departure a year ago had been sudden and left Aramis adrift and worried for a while.

“Well, Aramis,” Constance says, finishing up the bandaging, “I think that whatever your plans were for tonight, they’ve been changed. You’re not going to be able to do much with these cuts and you really shouldn’t aggravate them much.”

“I know.” He stands and helps her to clean up the mess.

“How did you happen to drop the dish, anyway?”

“I don’t know. It slipped or maybe I tripped. It’s been a long day.”

Constance sees it in his face. She knows that he’s normally able to catch a few hours of sleep in the morning but doubts that he was able to this morning with the kids there and volunteering. Hopefully, this means he can get some better sleep tonight.

“We should get back out there before they come to see if something more’s wrong,” Aramis says with a resigned tone.

“Just remember that you’re to take it easy for the rest of the night.”

“Of course, and thank you, Constance. For your help and for listening.”

“You’re welcome. It’s never a problem.”

Dinner is set by the time they get there and, after an awkward moment that is broken by one of the kids, it quickly turns into the regular noisy affair. Aramis eats but not as much as he might normally. When Porthos comments that he should eat more, Aramis waves his bandaged right hand, noting that it’s hard to eat with it and not much better with his left hand.

Fortunately, Porthos backs off and Aramis continues to pick at his meal. He eats what’s there, not one to waste, but he doesn’t take much to start with. Even before Porthos’ comment, he knew that they were watching but he doesn’t care. They will, he’s decided, think what they want and he doesn’t care to change his activities to please them. He doesn’t want to be like this, to have to force himself through a meal, to feign at least a little excitement over gifts down to their unwrapping but he does.

He eats what little he’s taken for himself and pretends to begrudgingly go into the living room while the others clean up. Because there’s no one there, he leans into the corner of the couch, pulling up his legs to curl up as much as a man of his size can to doze. They’ll find him there, eyes closed and half-asleep, and they’ll worry, but they won’t say anything. They’ll look instead and that’s enough.

Opening presents is a chore but he makes it through. Everyone is happy about their gifts and so is he, he supposes. That’s what he says with an empty smile. When they’re done, the kids check out their presents and the adults drift off into groups, talking about any random topic.

Aramis keeps up the appearance of wanting to converse until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. Before he realizes it, he’s drifted off with Treville making room for him on the couch, gently lifting his legs up so he can stretch out. Porthos lays a blanket over him as he unconsciously settles, gripping onto the pillow to position it better under his head.

“He didn’t last long,” Treville notes as he meanders to the other side of the living room. There’s a sort of muteness that’s come over the room. It’s still noisy with talking and playing, but not as much now that Aramis is stretched out on the couch, a quiet reminder that all is not well in their combined household.

“He hasn’t been sleeping much,” Athos says. “So, it’s not really surprising.”

“He’s not getting any better?”

“It’s only been a month, Captain. Therapy takes longer than that to work.”

“I know, but he seems to be worse,” Treville says, looking over at the sleeping man.

“I guess he might be. Day to day it’s hard to tell.” Athos doesn’t mean to sound callous, but he lives with Aramis. Unless the man stopped coming downstairs one day or stopped taking care of himself, he was unlikely to notice a decline in Aramis.

“You’re worried,” Porthos says, stepping up to the pair.

“He has three more months before he has to appear in front of the board and if he goes like this, he’s sure to be fired,” Treville says.

“And you can’t get him more time?”

“No.”

“He had longer in the past,” Athos says.

“He had been homeless, dealing with PTSD as a result of something that wasn’t his fault. I had more to bargain with then. There was sympathy for his condition. As it is, Richelieu is calling weekly to get updates. The board has heard about this and isn’t happy with the decisions made. I barely held onto the four months I gave him.”

“Alright,” Porthos says after a pause. “Let’s give him until the start of the new year. I think he’s on a new medication, so that might start to help.”

“What’s your thinking?” Athos has a feeling he knows where Porthos is going and he’s not thrilled with it, but faced with the prospect of losing Aramis, he’s willing to go for it and deal with the consequences because Aramis won’t forgive them for this easily.

“We double his sessions. Get him out more. Get him active. He needs to be up and doing things. Engaged with the world instead of sitting around.”

“And when he refuses,” Treville asks.

“We make it so that he can’t.”

There’s silence as they consider the plan.

“Look,” Porthos begins, “I know it’s not the best option, but do we want to lose him? Because we all know that if he gets fired, we won’t get him back. In his state right now, that’ll break him. This is for his benefit.”

“We’ll see,” Athos says cautiously. Porthos makes sense but he hates the idea of forcing Aramis. It’s been done to him and it only made him more resentful of his family, his parents. The more they pushed him to be active, forced him to go to therapy, more than he needed at the time, the more he pulled away from them and the more alone he was.

No, Aramis wouldn’t appreciate any of it and would undoubtedly pull away from them, but if they could get him better before he completely severed their ties, then maybe there was hope. It was a dangerous plan, but maybe, Athos thinks, they won’t have to put it in place. Leslie, Aramis’ new therapist was promising and even more, Aramis seems to like her. Perhaps she will be able to make progress with him.

It is more than he wants to consider tonight. He wants one night away from their daily troubles, from his own.

“Let’s leave it for now,” he says. “This is something bigger than I think you know, Porthos, and it’s not something to discuss tonight.”

“Athos is right,” Treville says. “Let’s enjoy the time with family. Aramis is safe right now and that’s what matters. We’ll tackle this later.”

“Alright,” Porthos reluctantly agrees.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new year doesn't bring the change they had hoped for leaving them frustrated as Aramis grows worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should apologize for this and the next several chapters. It's getting worse for them and it's only going to get worse as the chapters go on. There's nothing that I didn't plan on happening and it might be tamer than the first draft, but I don't think I really anticipated how bleak it would get. Everything will get resolved though and things will start looking up for the group at some point. 
> 
> There are discussions of self-harm and suicide in this chapter, but nothing is explicit.
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining errors are my own doing.

Unfortunately for Aramis, nothing improves with the new year. He continues with his counseling appointments and taking his medication. Porthos finds that he’s somewhat annoyed by not knowing what’s going on with the therapy and what medication Aramis is taking. When Aramis started with Lemay, they’d been heavily involved with his treatment. The situation had been much different though. Aramis was barely aware of his surroundings at times, much less able to listen to and remember treatment plans. There’d been group sessions with one or more of them and Lemay had always shared with them changes in medication, stressing that they needed to be in charge of making sure that Aramis took the medication. Leslie has so far made no effort to reach out to them, despite having Aramis’ medical history and them being listed as family and approved for contact concerning his treatment.

Still, Aramis seems to trust her. So, Porthos thinks, that must count for something. Except for the glaring fact that he is, in fact, growing worse, and the days are ticking by quicker than January has ever gone. With work, they don’t see Aramis much other than evenings. They finally cracked the Whitmore case and have a new one, which combined with any needed court appearances for their last case, keeps them busy. More and more they come home to find him sleeping on the couch in the den. Dinner is often in the slow cooker and desserts are a rare treat now.

Porthos has given thought to their plan from Christmas, but he doesn’t have time to discuss it with the others. Fortunately, Athos does seem to be improving, so that’s one bright spot in the bleakness of the new year. As for Aramis, they alternate days in looking after him. The single part of their plan being put into place is to get him more active. It’s the easiest, at least for them, because it involves getting him to tag along on any outing.

Today, it’s grocery shopping. Porthos has been careful in his timing because he won’t have help from the others and as little of Aramis they see now, the anxiety he is feeling is as obvious as the full moon on a clear night. He’s chosen one of the smaller stores and has woken Aramis up early, so they can get there when the store opens. Even though he let the man know of his plans the night before, he still has to go in to wake him a couple times, prodding him to keep moving. Any other day and he wouldn’t mind the dallying around, but he wants this trip to go smoothly and not just for him. He hopes that if Aramis sees that going out isn’t so bad, then he might be more willing to go. So, when Aramis claims that he’s not hungry, Porthos grabs a bottle of juice from the fridge and tells him to drink it as they get going.

The ordeal continues when Aramis wants to stay in the car.

“It’s too cold, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. “Let’s go. The sooner we get going, the sooner we’ll get done.”

“It’s just…”

“’Mis.” Porthos huffs. “The store has just opened. We’ll be the only customers in there and you know many of the employees understand to give you space. Let’s go.”

Aramis sighs but gives in. In the store, Porthos has Aramis take charge of the cart. He has a list of the groceries they’ll need for the coming week and he tries to get Aramis more involved than simply following him.

“Any fruit or vegetables you want, ‘Mis?”

“Whatever you’re getting is fine.”

“Come on. Apples or oranges?”

“I don’t care, Porthos.” Aramis pulls the sleeves down over his hands. Undeterred, Porthos picks the oranges as they’re on sale and moves on.

“It’s been a bit since we’ve had some of your sweets in the house. Anything you’d like to pick up to bake?”

“Is there something you’re wanting me to make,” Aramis asks as they move through the produce, Porthos getting the items on his list. Aramis scratches them off as they’re put in the cart, happy that with each item they’re that much closer to being done. He hasn’t made anything really since Christmas, which had taken a few days to get together. He’s thought about baking cookies at least because they’re easy or a quick loaf, but it’s all too much work. Getting dinner in the slow cooker is enough. But Porthos seems to want something and maybe he can get himself to do some baking for them.

“What do you feel like making? Any flavors that sound good? Desserts?”

“Porthos, nothing sounds good to me other than getting back under my covers on my bed or the couch. I’m open to both.” There’s a heaviness to Aramis’ voice. “But if there’s something you’re wanting, then let me know and I’ll work on it.”

“No, no,” Porthos sighs. “It’s fine. I don’t want to make you do anything if you’re not up to it.” Part of him thinks it would be a good idea for Aramis to bake and get some activity, but the long look on Aramis’ face squashes that part of him. He can’t make his brother do something he doesn’t want to.

They talk a little on the rest of the trip, though it’s mostly Porthos who initiates it with comments and questions about things they find. He thinks about picking up what’s needed for some of Aramis’ favorite baked goods but doesn’t want him to feel pressured into anything, so he grabs some boxed cake mixes, which rarely find their way into their household, but they’ll do until Aramis finds his way out of this hole.

With Aramis moving slow, the store is picking up in business by the time they are finishing up with Aramis having to dodge more carts, gripping the handle tightly and pulling himself away from his fellow shoppers. Porthos sees his distress.

“I’m almost done here, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. “Why don’t you go get find a bench up front and put us an order in at Panera? And make sure to text Athos and d’Artagnan that we’re bringing lunch home.”

“If you’re sure. I can stay to help,” Aramis offers even though it’s clear he doesn’t want to be here.

“It’s fine, ‘Mis. This works out well anyway. It’ll be ready by the time we’re done here.”

Porthos watches Aramis walk away, curling in further on himself as he goes. While he did manage to get Aramis out of the house, he doubts that it was very successful. After this, they’re likely not to see him for several hours, if not the rest of the day. Part of that, Porthos imagines, will be spent sleeping. Perhaps they’ll have a movie marathon tonight. It’s been a while since they’ve had one.

He finishes the shopping with little trouble and meets Aramis once he has the groceries bagged. When they have the groceries loaded up and lunch picked up, they head back home.

The remainder of the day is a quiet affair with Aramis disappearing upstairs after lunch as is the rest of the weekend. They have their movie marathon, binging the _Sharknado_ movies until they can’t take them anymore. They top out at _Sharknado 3: Oh Hell No!_. The days trod along, getting colder and snowier as February comes. As the others get up earlier to make it into work on time, Aramis begins sleeping late, not waking until near noon most days. Constance still comes by on occasion for a break on thesis writing. Her hours are much reduced at the station now so she can focus on researching and writing.

Today she’s come over with some soup and cookies, hoping to entice Aramis into eating with some food he enjoys. When she arrives, Aramis is dozing on the couch in the den. He wakes when she greets him at the door of the den and they spend the morning watching TV and chatting occasionally.

“I’m going to go get some lunch,” Constance says. “You want anything?”

“Not really hungry,” Aramis says absently. “But I’ll sit with you.”

She heats up more than enough soup for herself, grabbing some bread and vegetables to eat alongside. Once she takes what she wants of the soup, she sets the bowl on the table with the spoon in it and sits down to eat. Aramis has gotten them water to drink.

“You can have some of that, if you’re hungry.” Constance points to the leftover heated soup once she’s had some of her soup. “I’ve had what I’m going to.”

“I might.” Aramis looks in the bowl, turning the contents over with the spoon. “You missing work at the station,” Aramis asks after a pause. He stops playing with the soup and looks up at her.

“The variety of work and the people, I think. But I’m so glad that they don’t make us work during this period. I couldn’t imagine working on top of the researching and writing.”

“I think when Athos and Porthos joined they had so few Musketeers, they had no choice but to make them work. They still talk about the sleepless nights and worry about not finishing.” Aramis picks up a cherry tomato and pops it in his mouth.

“I’ve heard some of the old timers complaining about how easy we have it.”

“But what they don’t tell you is that the graduate school would always relent and give them the summer to finish without penalty. Of course, I don’t think many took it, but they didn’t have to finish it that semester.”

As Constance works to keep the conversation going and slow down her eating, Aramis picks at the food. He eats more of the vegetables and a slice of bread, dipping it at first in the broth of the soup before taking a few spoonfuls’. When it seems that he’s had his fill, she finishes the last of her lunch and they clean up. Constance stays a little longer before leaving to get back to work.

Unfortunately, between the weather and work, Constance can’t come for the rest of the week which leaves Aramis alone and feeling lonelier as the days go on. The kids have a day off of school due to snow, but it’s not safe for Sarah to drive them over for a visit. Aramis barely makes it to his appointment even though Athos is home from work early to take him.

The drive home takes twice as long due to traffic and the falling temperatures re-freezing what ice and snow had melted during the day. Even with the salt trucks, the roads are treacherous and Aramis wonders why Athos came home instead of Porthos. It really was d’Artagnan’s turn, but he’s seen little of the younger man for the last few weeks. He’s there at meals but he doesn’t speak much and leaves soon after he finishes helping.

“Is d’Artagnan okay,” Aramis asks, staring at the brake lights of the car in front of them. Every few minutes that move a little. There’s an accident ahead and traffic is slowly merging to the right to give the first responders room to work.

“Yeah,” Athos says hesitantly.

“Has he been busy with work or something? I don’t really see him much lately.”

“He hasn’t been busy with work. You know we all get off at the same time.”

“Other hobbies? Has he been spending time with Constance?”

“No, and I don’t really know what he’s been up to.” Athos doesn’t like where this conversation is going. He knows exactly why d’Artagnan hasn’t been around. He and Porthos had asked him about it last week after his latest disappearing act from dinner.

“Everything okay, d’Artagnan,” Porthos asks. They’re standing in his room, while he sits at his desk. He’d left quickly after dinner again and it was starting to concern them. With Aramis curled up on the couch in the den, not aware of much other than his own never-ending thoughts, they’d snuck upstairs to check on the young man.

“Yeah. I just wanted to get some playing time in on my new game.”

“You’ve had the game for a month now and I thought you’d already beaten it,” Athos says.

“Well, yes, but there’s a lot of other options for playing. It’ll be a while before I’m ready for the hardest level.”

“I thought you’d want to watch some TV with us. We haven’t seen much of you outside of work,” Porthos says.

“Sorry about that. I’ve just been really into my game lately.”

They don’t buy the flimsy excuse.

“Be honest with us, d’Artagnan. What’s going on,” Porthos asks.

“I know you want me to be honest and if it were anything else, I would be, but I can’t. It’s just not right.”

“Ahh.” Porthos pulls out the other chair at the desk. “I understand and it won’t upset us if you say it.”

“Porthos?” Athos gives him a puzzled look.

“This household can get quite difficult to live in at times, can’t it?”

“I… It’s not…”

Athos sighs, making the connection finally. “I didn’t realize, d’Artagnan. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s not you, Athos. I promise. It’s not,” d’Artagnan says quickly, instantly regretting his words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Has he said or done anything in particular,” Porthos asks.

“No. It’s just… It’s the moods and the exhaustion and how he does nothing but still sleeps so much. No, he doesn’t really say anything, but it’s still just… I don’t know.”

“Tense?” Porthos raises an eyebrow as he makes the suggestion.

“Yeah and I just don’t want to be around him and I hate that because I know that he needs us. I know that he doesn’t want this, but I just don’t want to be anywhere near him. And that makes me feel like a horrible person.”

“Don’t, d’Artagnan. While Aramis does need our help, we can’t lose sight of ourselves, right, Athos?”

“Right,” Athos agrees. “Why do you think I’m back in therapy now?”

“I thought it was just the natural swing of your emotions,” d’Artagnan says.

“Perhaps, but stress triggers the swings. And if nothing else, the past several months in this house have been stressful.”

“So, what? Do I need to see someone too?”

“If you want, but you don’t have to. This is normal, d’Artagnan.”

“But Porthos isn’t affected.”

“He’s just better at holding it in,” Athos says. “But even Porthos has a limit. So, take care of yourself. Aramis is getting help and putting yourself in a stressful situation just to help him isn’t going to help either of you in the long run.”

“Okay.”

“But in the future, please just tell us what’s going on. We won’t judge you,” Porthos says.

By the time they get home, it’s past seven. Porthos and d’Artagnan have already eaten. Athos had Aramis send them a text to tell them not to wait. There are two plates in the fridge for them though. When Aramis is set to bypass dinner and go straight up to his room, Athos stops him.

“Eat something, at the very least, Aramis. It doesn’t have to be a lot, but I doubt you’ve had much all day.”

“I’ve eaten,” Aramis says, slightly defensive.

“And you need to eat something more this evening.”

“Fine.” Aramis doesn’t have the energy to argue this point, so he follows Athos into the kitchen, missing d’Artagnan moving quickly from the den up the stairs to his bedroom. Faced with a quiet den, Porthos joins the two in the kitchen where Athos is heating up the plates of food while Aramis sits at the island looking as though he’s facing the firing squad.

“Dinner was good tonight,” Porthos says, sitting next to Aramis. “Thanks for putting it together this morning.”

Aramis mumbles a reply. He’s just about gone through all of his crockpot meals by now, but at least they’re enjoying them. That’s one thing that’s going right. Unfortunately, as good as the food apparently is, the smell is making him feel sick.

“Athos, please, can I just go upstairs,” he pleads.

“No, you need to eat something,” Athos says. Despite Aramis’ latest tendency to wear long sleeves, Athos hasn’t missed the loss of weight.

Aramis huffs, leaning over the table to put his head down on his folded arms.

“Athos is right,” Porthos says.

“Is there something else you’d like, Aramis,” Athos asks, pulling one plate from the microwave.

“I just want to go upstairs,” Aramis reiterates, voice muffled.

“Not until you eat something.” Athos turns to start the next plate in the microwave. “Even Meg is better than this when she’s crabby.”

“I’m not a child, Athos.” Aramis lifts his head up to glare at Athos, who’s leaning against the counter.

“You’d certainly fool me.” Athos knows that he’s quickly losing his temper, but it’s been a long day. A long week, actually, and nothing has gotten better. Each day Aramis has been worse from laying around despondent to barely talking to being surly. And Aramis seems to notice very little of the effect he’s having on the three of them.

“I’m not trying to be difficult.”

“Just sit and eat.” Athos sticks the plate in front of Aramis with a little more effort than necessary. Aramis doesn’t move for several minutes, not even as Athos sits down with his plate and starts eating. “Or don’t, ‘Mis. Just go then.”

Aramis doesn’t hesitant in taking the invitation to leave, pushing the plate aside and walking out of the kitchen.

“No better than a child,” Athos mutters angrily. He’s sure that Aramis has heard it, but the man doesn’t stop.

“You’re going to have to talk with him, Athos,” Porthos says.

“I know.” Athos looks down at his own meal, finding it unappealing in the aftermath of his anger.

“You doing okay?”

“The same.” Athos puts his fork down and runs his hands over his tired face. “Was it this bad that first time?”

“Doesn’t seem like it. Do you think there’s more that needs to be done?”

“Like what? More therapy? More medication? We’ve tried more activity and that doesn’t work. He fights us every step. It’s like he doesn’t want to get better.”

“You noticed that, too?”

Athos nods. “Yeah. Maybe he still thinks there’s a stalker?”

“There hasn’t been an incident for weeks. Not since he’s been off-duty.”

“I’ll ask him about it.” Athos pushes himself to his feet, taking the two plates of food to the sink.

“You’re not eating either?”

“I’ll get something later when my stomach settles. I just need to get that talk done with and I should be better.”

“Let me take care of those then. Go talk with him before he gets involved in anything and you have to deal with his irritation from the disruption.”

“Thanks,” Athos says and heads upstairs where he heard Aramis’ door shut minutes ago. He knocks, waiting for a response.

“Come,” Aramis says just loud enough for Athos to hear. The bedroom is dark with just a single lamp on, the blinds closed, and air stuffy with the smell of sleep and idleness. Uncharacteristic of the man, clothes are scattered about on the floor, the chair, and the edge of the bed. And on the bed is an Aramis sized lump under the three layers of quilts.

“You here to tell me what else I’m screwing up?” Aramis’ voice is still quiet, but clear enough for Athos to hear.

“That was not the meaning of our earlier conversation, Aramis. I got angry and let that get the better of me. I’m sorry.” Athos moves some of the clothes and sits on the other side of the bed.

“No, I should’ve eaten. I know. But I can’t.”

Athos shouldn’t be surprised by the rapid mood shift, but it does catch him off guard because it’s so unlike Aramis. While the man is no stranger to moods, being more excitable and animated than him and Porthos, he doesn’t shift so quickly.

“What’s going on, Aramis?”

“You mean besides the same old same old?”

“Turn around and pull the blankets down so we can talk. You know I prefer to see who I’m talking to.”

Aramis shifts so that he’s inches from Athos, the blankets down to his chest. He thinks about sitting up, but he doesn’t feel like it and the pillow feels nice against his head.

“So, besides the same old same old, what’s going on?”

“I’m just tired of it all, Athos. Nothing is going right. I can’t do anything right. And I… I just want to be done.” Aramis sighs.

“Is this from tonight or did something happen earlier? During your session?”

“Maybe the session, but does it really matter? I know I was wrong.”

“About what?”

“You know. You were right. You were all right, like always.” Aramis rambles on, tension and anger increasing as he speaks.

“Aramis, what happened?” Athos puts a gentle hand on Aramis’ shoulder, trying to calm him.

“We talked about the stalker. I didn’t want to, but Leslie said I was putting it off and that was keeping me from getting anywhere. So, we talked.”

“And?” Athos is surprised that they’ve only just covered this in the sessions, but he knows that Aramis can be difficult to pin down on a difficult topic. So, it wasn’t probably her first attempt to broach the topic.

“And you were all right. There never was a stalker. It’s just a part of my fucked up brain.”

“It’s not fucked up, Aramis.”

“Yeah it is and I don’t know that I can really trust myself after this. I mean, look at what it made me do. The trouble I caused. It probably doesn’t matter anyway. Richelieu and his board are going to fire me anyway so I don’t have to worry about screwing up anymore there.” Aramis’ voice sinks as he talks. He huffs before rolling away from Athos.

“Why didn’t you say anything, ‘Mis? Has this been eating at you since your session ended?”

“A couple of weeks ago,” Aramis says quietly.

“A couple of weeks? ‘Mis, why didn’t you say something?”

“What’s the use?”

“You were suffering, feeling miserable.”

Aramis shrugs his shoulders as best he can laying on his side.

“Aramis, please, roll back over. We need to talk.”

“No, Athos. I really just want to be alone. Just leave me.” Aramis pulls the layers of quilts back up, nearly covering himself entirely.

“I can’t leave knowing that you’re in such a bad position.” Athos is at a loss as to what to do. He’s worried about Aramis and doesn’t want to leave him in this state even though the man clearly doesn’t want to talk. Forcing the issue much more, he knows, will lead to problems. Still… “’Mis, please.” Athos barely hears the intake of breath before Aramis speaks, voice shaky but firm.

“Athos, just go. Go tell the others that you were all right. Call Treville and let him know. Soon I’ll be out of your hairs and you can all celebrate that I won’t be causing any more trouble.”

Athos is silent for a moment, taking in the rant. There’s no real heat to it. Just clear self-loathing.

“’Mis you planning anything?” Athos keeps his voice steady even though he’s falling apart inside. He didn’t think they’d get to this point. It’s been a while, but he remembers the steps, the words.

“Just go,” Aramis pleads.

“Aramis, you know I have to ask. When you start talking like this, I have to ask.”

“Because I have a history?” Aramis sits up suddenly, turning to face Athos.

“Yes, because you…”

“I haven’t done anything, Athos. And I’m not going to. But since you don’t believe me, look.” Aramis pulls up the sleeves of his shirt, showing only older scars, far too old to be part of this current bout. “Look around, too. I have nothing to hide.”

“I trust you, Aramis.”

“Apparently you don’t.” There’s a tense moment between them before Aramis turns away and disappears back under the covers. Athos thinks briefly about searching, but he can’t. The entire conversation had been a roller coaster and he’s feeling sick now that it’s over. The dull ache in the bottom of his stomach was back with a vengeance and he could think of nothing more than going to bed.

In the hallway, he faces the stairs but can’t make himself go down.

“Athos?” d’Artagnan’s voice is quiet and concerned.

“It’s alright, d’Artagnan.”

“Yes, because that sounded like everything was alright.”

“Okay, so maybe not.” Athos turns to lean his back against the wall.

“You okay?”

“No. I suppose not.” He looks down the hall to his bedroom and it seems too far away, so he sinks to the floor where he’s at.

“I’m going to get Porthos,” d’Artagnan says, turning before he’s finished.

“No, don…” Athos starts to say but sighs as he considers the situation. “Yeah, I guess you should.” He wishes he was back out on the icy roads in rush hour traffic instead of sitting in the hallway just down from Aramis’ room. What had happened? How had they let it get this bad?


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The situation in the Inseparables household grows worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the erratic posting schedule. Real life is kind of terrible right now so posting a new chapter isn't quite at the top of my priorities. The story will be finished though. 
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining errors are my own doing.

Porthos comes up the stairs, d’Artagnan trailing behind, confused and irritated. Athos doesn’t know what d’Artagnan told him, but he knows that young man doesn’t know much of what was said.

“What’s going on,” Porthos asks.

“Guess,” Athos says tiredly.

“d’Artagnan said something about you and Aramis having an argument? I thought you were going to talk with him.”

“I did but it didn’t go as well as I expected.”

“And the argument?”

“We’re going to have to watch him,” Athos says, looking up at Porthos.

“Do you think he’s going to try anything,” Porthos asks without a pause.

“I wouldn’t be out here if I did.” Athos takes a breath. “I checked. That’s what the arguing was about. Just old scars on his arms. I don’t know if he’s got anything in there with him, but he didn’t sound like he was going to do anything right away.”

“Do you want me to talk with him?”

“And say what? I don’t think he’s going to be listening to any of us right now.”

“Umm, guys. Let’s go down into one of the rooms,” d’Artagnan says. He doesn’t wait for them to follow as he goes back to his room. Porthos helps Athos to his feet and they follow d’Artagnan.

“Who’re you texting,” Porthos asks when they get in the room to find d’Artagnan with his phone.

“Constance.” d’Artagnan finishes the short text conversation and sets the phone down to look at them. “You’re right, Athos. He’s not going to listen to any of us, but he will listen to Constance. He has these last several months when he was fed up with us, he listened to her and saw reason.”

“And you think he’s going to listen now,” Athos asks, sitting on the bed.

“He might.” d’Artagnan shrugs his shoulders, hesitancy clear in his face.

“I’m sorry, d’Artagnan. You’re right. In the past, he would’ve come to one of us with this and any urges he has, but I’m not sure he trusts any of us right now. He’ll tell her though.”

“Is it fair to dump the responsibility on her,” Porthos asks.

“She is his friend,” d’Artagnan says. “I doubt she wants anything to happen to him. And, if it’s as we think and he won’t talk to us about how he’s doing, then he needs to have someone to talk to who he trusts.”

“As Athos said, you’re right,” Porthos says. “And good thinking on getting in touch with her and us moving out of the hall. We don’t want him overhearing everything we’re saying. He already barely trusts us. Us standing out there talking about him would only make things worse.” As Porthos realizes what he’s said, he curses and sits in the other chair at the desk. “How’d we get to this point?”

“I’ve been wondering that, too,” Athos says. He’s leaning more into the footboard of d’Artagnan’s bed, not caring for how comfortable he’s making himself in the young man’s room. It’s been a hard evening.

“What’re we going to do,” d’Artagnan asks, looking between them. He too has sat down, turning in his chair so he can look at them.

“We could try talking with his therapist,” Porthos says. “We talked to Lemay. This Leslie Morel might be willing to talk with us.”

“Aramis seems to like her,” Athos says. “She sounds a lot like Lemay, so it might work.”

“I’m not quite sure how the counseling, therapy thing works,” d’Artagnan ventures. “But maybe a second time a week? I mean, it seems like once isn’t enough.”

“It’s not common, but we are running out of time.”

“Yeah. I think we have a month and a half left,” Porthos says.

“He’s going to be really angry with us after this,” Athos says.

“It’s for his own good.”

“How many times can we say that, Porthos, before it becomes meaningless? Before we’re doing more harm than good?”

“Do you want to lose him?” Porthos turns to look at Athos.

“No, but I know that if we keep going down this route it’s not going to work out well in the end.”

“He’ll understand,” Porthos says. “He did before and he will again. I’ll take care of calling the doctor. I’ll give her a call tomorrow. I’ll try for getting him a second appointment on Monday or Tuesday. We’ll work it out with Treville.” Porthos leaves after that, his irritation clear.

“You okay, Athos,” d’Artagnan asks.

“Tired, but yeah, I think. As well as any of us can be now.” Athos gives him a slight smile, feeling warmed by the concern.

“Did Aramis really forgive you guys last time?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t easy. And it was different. He didn’t trust anyone really. Except for the Captain. He trusted me more because I could understand what he was dealing with.”

“But he did forgive you?”

“Yes, but there was no trust to break, d’Artagnan. And if there’s anything that Aramis holds dear it’s trust. You break it and he’s done with you.”

“We’re not getting him back then?” d’Artagnan’s statement sounds more like a question.

“I wouldn’t say never, d’Artagnan. But it’s getting more unlikely.” There’s a pause before Athos speaks again. “You good?”

d’Artagnan nods.

“Let me know if you want to talk. I think I’m going to lie down for a while.” Without a further word, Athos leaves, moving heavily out of d’Artagnan’s room, down the hall to his own. The past hour feels like longer and he doesn’t have the energy to change. So he climbs into bed, under the covers, and hopes that he’ll soon drop off into a peaceful sleep where the trials of the household aren’t.

In the coming days, the mood in the household doesn’t quite settle down, but it doesn’t get worse. Porthos, thankfully, waits until they’re at work to call Dr. Morel. Once Porthos has explained who he is, he begins trying to explain their concerns.

“He’s not really been getting better,” Porthos says. “I’m not sure what he’s been telling you and I understand that you can’t tell me, but we wanted to let you know that we’re concerned.”

“I appreciate your understanding and your concern. I can tell you that there’s been nothing of immediate concern. Has something come up at home?”

Porthos hesitates for a moment.

“If he might be at risk, Porthos, I need to know,” Dr. Morel says.

“Athos talked with him last night and he said something about not being around for much longer,” Porthos says quickly. “There’s no signs of him having done anything and we don’t think he’s going to right away, but…”

“He does have a history.”

“Yeah.”

“Is he alone today? I know the three of you work during the day.”

“There’s a friend coming over for a while. She might stay for a while because she knows what’s going on.”

“Good. I have an opening on Monday at 9 am. I can fit him in then and we’ll see about making it a regular appointment. When you let him know, tell him he can call me anytime during the weekend on the second number on my business card. He should still have it. That’s my emergency line.”

“Can you text it to me just in case he’s lost the card?”

“Sure. And if something happens, don’t hesitate to call.”

Porthos thanks her and ends the phone call. He tells the others about the call and tries to get through the day without thinking about the conversation he has to have with Aramis tonight.

“Maybe just wait,” d’Artagnan suggests at lunch after a tense morning with Porthos.

“I hate having things like this hovering over me.”

“Well, his reaction isn’t going to be any different if you wait until Sunday to tell him, is it? He’s going to be mad either way.”

“True, but is it fair to wait? Not to mention, he needs to know that he can call Dr. Morel over the weekend if he needs to.”

“Yeah, there is that.” There’s a pause in the conversation as they continue eating. “One of us could go with you.”

“I appreciate that, but there’s no need.” As much as Porthos might like the help if nothing else so that he doesn’t have to bear the brunt of Aramis’ emotions alone, he can’t imagine d’Artagnan or Athos going with him. d’Artagnan didn’t even come out of his room for the remainder of last night and poorly hid a sigh of relief when Aramis slept through breakfast this morning. And Athos, Porthos wonders if Athos is going to make it through the day. Drawn, quiet, and unfocused, Athos looks worse than in the last several weeks. He had actually seemed to be getting better. At least, he was sleeping more and wanted to be active. Porthos suspects that it’s more Aramis’ presence at home that’s keeping Athos here. The man doesn’t often go home due to his depression, but it has happened.

That night tensions in the house are eased some. Aramis is downstairs. Dinner is put together and there’s a dessert baked.

“Constance helped,” Aramis says. There’s even a touch of a smile. Porthos doesn’t want to ruin the man’s good mood or the good night. d’Artagnan’s staying downstairs and Athos seems to be in a lighter mood. Both Aramis and Athos fall asleep before the first film is over, but it doesn’t prevent them from having a good night.

The peace lasts until Saturday afternoon. They’re having a late lunch and Porthos finds himself arguing again with Aramis about eating. It’s not heated, but at some point he looks up to see Athos looking blankly at his food and d’Artagnan gone. His phone flashes with a rushed text from d’Artagnan about going to the Treville’s for a bit.

“Damn it, Aramis, don’t you see the mess you’re making,” Porthos says. He’s not quite yelling, but he’s close.

“It’s just lunch, Porthos. I’m heading upstairs,” Aramis says tiredly. When he moves to stand, Porthos puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him there.

“It’s not lunch, Aramis. It’s everything else. You need more help.”

“You think I’m not doing everything I can?”

“No, you’re not and you’re not telling us things. So, I called your doctor, Morel. You have an appointment Monday at 9. It’ll probably become a regular appointment.”

“You called her? Why?”

“Like I said, you’re not telling us things and you’re getting worse. You barely want to eat, you’re not sleeping, and you spend all of your time lying around.”

“You talked about hurting yourself, ‘Mis,” Athos says quietly. “What did you think we were going to do?”

“Especially when you don’t talk to us,” Porthos adds.

“Hurting myself?” Aramis looks at them, confusion clear.

“Your conversation with Athos the other night.”

“I wasn’t… That was just…”

“I thought it might just be you talking about leaving, but you didn’t deny it later,” Athos says calmly.

“Okay, but you could’ve talked to me. You could’ve said something instead of going behind my back to set this up.” Aramis’ voice drops as he talks until it’s barely audible. He looks at the two of them. “I’m going upstairs,” he says quietly and gets up to leave, thankful that Porthos doesn’t stop him this time.

“Aramis,” Porthos calls out as the man’s nearly in the hallway.

“Yes, I’ll go.”

“Oh, and if you’re not going to talk to us about things, then make sure you call her emergency number. She said it was okay.” Aramis doesn’t acknowledge the comment, disappearing upstairs with quiet footsteps on the stairs and the click of a shut door.

“That didn’t go as I expected,” Porthos says still looking where Aramis was.

“Not as I expected either,” Athos says.

“Do you think we should go up? Talk to him a bit?”

Athos gives him a look. “I don’t think either of us talking to him will do any good right now. And no, I don’t think he’s in any danger,” Athos says, cutting off the concern he knows Porthos was ready to voice. “He doesn’t have anything in there he could hurt himself with and I don’t think he really wants to anyway. Not now, at least.”

They don’t see Aramis for the rest of the weekend and only know that he’s come down to eat by the extra dishes in the dishwasher. Sunday evening, he texts the three of them to let them know he’s taking the train to his appointment in the morning. There’s some hesitancy on their part to let him, wondering if he does plan to go and how he’s getting to the station. Aramis hasn’t been driving much lately, but there’s little they can do without causing more problems.

Aramis isn’t looking forward to this surprise session. On the one hand, Athos misinterpreted his comment, but he couldn’t deny that their concerns are unfounded. He just hasn’t told anyone. Not even Leslie, but mostly because she hasn’t asked. They’ve been talking about a number of things and each time seemed to be something new.

When the session starts, it’s Leslie who speaks first.

“Your friends got in touch with me last week, as I’m sure you know. They’re concerned.”

“Yes, they let me know Saturday that I needed more help.” Aramis picks at a loose thread on the chair.

“And how did it make you feel?”

“How do you think? There was an argument and I left. They apparently think that I need more help because I’m not getting better. I’m doing everything I can.”

“They seem to care a great deal about you,” Leslie says.

“It looks different from this side.”

“And how does it look?”

“Like a lack of trust and honestly I’m not sure if I can trust them anymore, not after they go behind my back to talk to you and set this up.”

“But you still came to the appointment they made,” she counters.

Aramis shrugs his shoulders. “I know I’m not getting better. It’s all going downhill. I’m lucky I even got up with enough time to get dressed and catch the train here today with how bad my sleeping’s been lately. But they could’ve talked to me. I thought they were my friends.”

“This seems like rather a small thing to break up a friendship, especially with men who’ve helped you out so much after Afghanistan. Has trust always been an issue?”

“No,” Aramis says quickly before sinking into silence as he thinks about his past.

“Can you tell me when it did?”

“Isabel, I think,” Aramis says absently.

“Who is Isabel?”

“My first love. We met in high school. We had geometry class together and I, for the life of me, couldn’t get it. She helped me. I asked her to a dance ‘cause I didn’t want to go alone and not long after that we started dating.”

“What happened with her?”

“We were fooling around. Being careful, or so I thought. I didn’t know the condom broke until she told me she was pregnant. We were seventeen, almost eighteen, and scared. I…” Aramis pauses, moving around in his chair uncomfortably. “I was going to help her. I’d gone back to tell her that I wasn’t going to leave. I wanted to be responsible, but she’d already gone ahead with it. Without asking me. Her dad met me at the door and threatened me. I ran and soon after met Treville when I tried to enlist.”

“And this is when trust became an issue for you?”

“It started, I think. Treville talked me out of enlisting and made me tell my parents what happened. Turns out dad knew and had called the enlistment office when he saw me sneak out of the house that morning. Treville didn’t have to listen to him. I was eighteen.”

“Sounds like they were looking out for you.”

“They were. It was really nice after everything happened. I still got a talking to and a lecture, but their support was nice.”

“So, would it have been Afghanistan then that caused the trust issue?”

“Yes,” Aramis says, voice short. “But I’ve already discussed this before. With Dr. Lemay. We talked a lot about it and learning to trust again.”

“I understand that, but given the situation, I think it might be helpful to revisit the situation.” She’s careful to keep her tone even.

“I’m not sure. It doesn’t bring up good memories or thoughts.”

“Do you want to regain your friendships?”

“Of course. I just can’t quite trust them.”

“Then we need to talk about this. Explore how the situations are different.”

“O…okay. Where should I start?”

“Tell me about the event that led up to the trust issue.”

Aramis is hesitant in his explanation. He grows tired as he speaks, remembering clearly the mission, Marsac’s absence, and the massacre. Lying wounded and dehydrated in the desert, he’s never had clear memories of the aftermath save for the ever-present feeling of being alone that was supposed to end with his rescue. But then they all abandoned him, blamed him for the deaths.

He takes a tissue from the Kleenex box she holds as when the tears start. It’s not heavy, but he can’t stop the gentle tears falling.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Leslie says at last. “We’ll pick this up again at our usual time. And I think we should make this session regular as well. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah,” Aramis answers absently. He’s still caught up in his thoughts when he stands and walks out of the room, not quite hearing anything else she says. He manages to get home, but he doesn’t quite remember getting there but he knows that he’s home because he’s curled back up under his quilts in bed, with the TV on in the background, reliving moments of the massacre and its aftermath in sharp, short flashes. He thinks about calling someone. Maybe Athos or Porthos. Even d’Artagnan, though he knows all of this frightens the young man, but the phone is hidden under some blankets, he thinks, and it’s too much of an effort. So, he stays there, hoping that he might fall asleep because he’s exhausted and dreading it all the same for the terror his unconscious mind will release.

He answers a text one of them sends some time in the afternoon, asking about his appointment and hears them when they come home in the evening. Athos tries to get him to come down for dinner but gives up after Aramis refuses for the fifth time. Someone, d’Artagnan he thinks, sets snacks on the desk by the door, but they don’t bother him otherwise. And it sets a pattern for the coming days and weeks.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> d'Artagnan rushes home after a phone call and finds that things have taken a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

When Treville questions them later on what happened Porthos, Athos, and d’Artagnan can’t say exactly why it did. It might’ve been their frustration with the situation or having to spend long nights at work and weekends as their caseload picked up. From mid-February to mid-March, they are busy and get home late, often having eaten already at work. They know that Aramis still goes to his scheduled appointments. He does eat, though the signs of it are becoming less frequent, so they make sure to keep his desk in his room supplied with snacks and drinks because that’s where he seems to spend his time. On occasion, he talks with them instead of texting, because that they do manage to do daily, but in their exhaustion, they fail to see his. They miss everything about his decline until Leslie calls Porthos because Aramis has missed his second appointment in a row. Porthos is in a meeting with Athos though, so the call eventually comes to d’Artagnan, who rushes home with trepidation burning his stomach.

He’s sent Athos and Porthos a text on the train ride and called for an Uber to be at the station when the train gets in. The past few days have been a blur for them with their caseload. Working through the weekend, they stumble home more tired than before and mumble good nights to each other as they trudge to their respective bedrooms and Aramis, it seems, has gotten lost in their hectic schedule. Still, d’Artagnan thinks, Aramis is an adult and can fend for himself. He hasn’t wanted their help or company lately anyway, growing further isolated and mysterious to them. And surely Aramis knows that they’ll stop if he needs them, if he truly is in a crisis, they’ll stop and Treville will find the quickest route for them. Surely Aramis knows that, d’Artagnan tries to convince himself as he stares out at the dreary winter landscape.

It’s an hour and a half journey but it feels both too short and too long until he’s in the door, running through the hall as he checks the downstairs for Aramis, calling for the man as he goes.

Predictably, he finds Aramis in his room, a lump under the blankets on the bed. As usual, the air is stuffy, though with a bit of a sour smell, and the room dark with the TV as the only noise, save for the nasally breathing and coughing from Aramis. They’d noticed last week that Aramis seemed to have gotten a slight cold but seemed to be fine otherwise.

He calls out again and doesn’t get a reaction from Aramis. Normally, Aramis at least grunts or huffs to indicate that he’s fine and wants them to leave, but this time there’s nothing and that concerns him. Hesitant and concerned, d’Artagnan moves to the other side of the bed where Aramis is curled up under blankets. He first catches glimpse of Aramis’ pale face, fever-red cheeks, and gaunt face. He takes a step closer to check on the man, halting when he nearly steps in a pile of yellow bile on the floor. It’s then that he sees more than one spot and specks of yellow on Aramis’ lips.

“Aramis,” d’Artagnan tries again, louder. He risks touching the man’s shoulder, which he knows might cause a dangerous panic. Aramis doesn’t make a move, not even when d’Artagnan shakes him gently. That and the heat d’Artagnan can feel radiating off of Aramis alarms him. He gets the thermometer from the bathroom and waits for the device to read. The irritation in his ear makes Aramis grumble slightly, which dissolves into wet coughs. d’Artagnan holds him steady until the coughing fades, then checks the readout: 103.

His first call is to 911 and his second to Athos, as well as his third and fourth until he breaks through the emergency protocol on the phone. Athos answers, irritated, on the fifth ring.

“What is it, d’Artagnan? We’re in the middle of an important meeting.”

“It’s Aramis. He’s sick.” d’Artagnan checks the man one more time to make sure that he’s okay and then heads downstairs to wait on the ambulance.

“He was a little nasally last week.”

d’Artagnan holds back his frustration. “Dr. Morel called. Aramis hadn’t been to the last two sessions. So, I came home and he’s coughing and he has a bad fever. And he won’t wake up, not even when I touched him. Not even a jump.”

“How’d he get so bad so quickly,” Athos wonders aloud.

“I don’t know. I’ve called 911 and the ambulance should be here soon.”

“Good. I’ll, um… I’ll let Treville know what’s happened. I don’t know if we can get out of this meeting, but we’ll be there as soon as we can. Keep me updated. Oh, and make sure to take his medications. They should be on the nightstand. He always kept them there when he didn’t trust us,” Athos adds just before they end the phone call.

d’Artagnan puts the phone in his pocket and is just ready to run back up to get the medicines together when he hears the familiar sound of sirens. They cut off quickly in the quiet neighborhood, but the flashing lights do enough to bring curious onlookers to their windows, peering out to ponder what’s going on at the Inseparables household. d’Artagnan doesn’t think about the disturbance the ambulance causes or what the neighbors must be thinking, instead greeting them at the garage door.

“d’Artagnan,” Mark says and the young Musketeer has never been more glad to see some familiar faces. “Who is it?”

“Aramis. He’s not looking good.”

“Let’s go take a look then. Would you grab the other case, Eric?”

d’Artagnan leads them through the house and upstairs to Aramis’ bedroom. He’s left the door open in hopes that Aramis would know he’s not alone anymore. The man hasn’t moved.

“The paramedics are here, Aramis,” d’Artagnan calls out just in case Aramis is alert. “It’s Mark and Eric, the usual ones. I’m going to turn the lights on so they can get a look at you, okay?” There’s no response, but he didn’t expect one.

“Has he woken at all,” Mark asks as he and Eric move to Aramis’ side of the bed.

“No. He grumbled a little when I took his temperature, but other than I don’t know when he was last alert.” d’Artagnan feels worse as he continues talking. “We haven’t really been home since yesterday morning. It was so late last night we slept at work.”

“Has he been sick? Taking any medications?” They get started on taking his vitals, be careful in their movements. As Mark asks d’Artagnan questions, Eric explains what they’re doing in case Aramis might be slightly aware.

d’Artagnan tells Mark what he knows about how Aramis has been. Before he knows it, there’s a stretcher in the bedroom and Aramis is being transferred to it.

“You going to ride with us,” Eric asks. He’s putting away their equipment while Mark finishes securing Aramis.

“Um… yeah.” d’Artagnan looks at them, trying to catch up with what’s going on. “Is he bad off?” He sees the oxygen mask on Aramis and the pulse ox monitor.

“The lack of response and fever are worrying. We’ll know more once we get him to the ER but he’s not critical.” Eric leaves to take their kits to the ambulance.

“He’ll be fine, d’Artagnan,” Mark says. “Chances are that with the fever and dehydration, he’s just not feeling well and once he’s gotten a little treatment, he’ll wake back up.”

“Dehydration? I thought he’d been drinking enough. We made sure there was always something and kept an eye on things as much as we could.”

“It could be from vomiting. It looks like he’s thrown up a few times at least. I doubt he can keep anything down. It’s not the worst I’ve seen, but he was difficult to get an IV going.”

d’Artagnan nods blankly.

“Mark, you ready to take him down,” Eric asks.

“Yeah. Let’s get him taken care of. You might want to make sure you lock up,” Mark adds, tapping d’Artagnan’s shoulder to get the young man’s attention.

“Yeah, yeah.” d’Artagnan nods, moving out of the way as they work. He watches until they’re out in the hallway and he hears them maneuvering the steps. Then he looks around the room, wondering if he should bring anything. What would Aramis want? It’s then he spots Fidget, the sword-wearing Musketeer bear Ben got him one year. Aramis likes to have it when he has long stays in the hospital, so he grabs it and heads downstairs where he just remembers to close the garage door and take his keys before hopping into the back of the ambulance where Mark has Aramis secured.

Mark smiles when he sees Fidget. “He’ll be happy to see him when he wakes.”

“When do you think that’ll be,” d’Artagnan asks. He tries to stay out of the way as Mark keeps an eye on Aramis.

“It’s hard for me to say. I’m sorry d’Artagnan. But I can tell you that he’s stable and that’s good. He’s come through a lot and I’m sure this is just a small blip.”

“It doesn’t seem all that small. He’s not even waking up.” d’Artagnan gestures to the unconscious Aramis.

“I’m sure it seems like a big thing. But trust me when I say that I’ve seen a lot of cases like his and I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s sick now, pretty sick, but he’s getting help. And you didn’t hesitate in calling. Doubting yourself now isn’t going to do any good.”

“Yeah. This is…” d’Artagnan is cut off as the doors of the ambulance are opened. He didn’t realize they were there. He moves absently, following, as Aramis is pulled from the ambulance and wheeling into the ER. No one stops him as he goes back with the stretcher into the exam room. It’s a real room rather than a curtained-off bed.

“We’ll keep in touch,” Mark tells d’Artagnan as him and Eric leave the room after they’ve transferred Aramis and updated the nurse on his vitals.

From then on, it’s a blur for d’Artagnan. He answers question after question, sometimes with concrete information, other times with a guilty shrug and claim of ignorance. First, it’s a nurse, then a doctor. They take blood and send Aramis out for a chest x-ray. Aramis wakes some, but he’s not coherent and d’Artagnan has to work to calm him as the nurses threaten restraints and sedation.

At some point, Athos texts him that they can’t get out of their meeting. Just as he’s reading the text, after having calmed Aramis again, and feeling hopeless at being left here alone, Constance arrives.

“What are you doing here,” d’Artagnan blurts out. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Gee, thanks. And hello to you too.” Constance teases back. She’d been prepared for his edginess. Porthos said he’d been having a hard time dealing with Aramis and worried how he would deal with this situation.

“I’m sorry. It’s just surprising. It’s just me and Aramis. Well, just me because he’s not really here.” D’Artagnan gestures weakly at the unconscious man.

“How’re you doing? It must’ve been a bit scary to find him unconscious.”

“I’m fine. The important thing is that he’s getting the help he needs. They still haven’t gotten everything under control. The fever keeps rising and he’s not woken up. Not alert anyway.”

“d’Artagnan,” Constance says calmly but firm enough to stop him. He turns to her with a questioning look. “I asked how you are doing.”

“And I said I’m fine. It’s Aramis that isn’t.”

“Okay. You can stick with that for now, if you want. But I’m here to listen whenever you’re ready.” She takes a seat next to him, setting her bag down and rifling through it for her current research.

“I said I was fine. This is hardly the worse thing we deal with as Musketeers. I’ve seen much, much worse and been fine.”

Constance remains quiet as she opens her work. She’s not working so much as reviewing notes.

“Constance, I…” he trails off, running a hand over his tired face before sitting next to her with a loud sigh. “I don’t know, Constance. I mean this should be easy. We’re trained to deal with worse. I’ve dealt with worse. But…”

“Yes, we’re trained to deal with this and worse but with strangers. They don’t tell us what to do when it’s our family, d’Artagnan. And I don’t think anyone expects you to know what to do.”

“Athos, Porthos, and Treville know what to do.”

“Because they’ve done this before. And believe me, they’re not perfect,” Constance adds quietly.

D’Artagnan looks at her, wondering if he should defend them but finds he doesn’t have the energy.

“It doesn’t really matter though does it because they’re not here. I am and I’m the one screwing it up.”

“You’re not alone anymore and from what you see, you’re doing great. He’s calm and being taken care of.”

“Do you know how many times he’s woken up delirious? And each time it seems worse and they want to sedate him or restrain him to keep him safe.”

“Well, I don’t see restraints. I’m not sure if he’s gotten sedatives.” She sees him quickly shake his head, no. “Well, then I think you’ve done well. There’s no handbook in these situations, trust me.”

He raises an eyebrow in question at here.

“Previous experience,” she says in a tone that lets him know she won’t be saying anything more.

“So, what now?”

“Now, I get some more research done because this thesis won’t finish itself and you distract yourself with your phone or you can borrow one of my books. I might have something fun to read in here.” She starts rifling through her backpack, finally pulling out a well-worn copy of _The Three Musketeers_.

“It’s a long read, but I think we’re going to be here for a bit,” she says, looking at Aramis.

“ _The Three Musketeers_? That’s the book you have lying around in your backpack?” d’Artagnan feels like laughing, but he’s not sure if it’s the situation or stress.

“It’s a good book and I was curious to see how much you all match up to your literary counterparts.”

“And?” d’Artagnan smiles slightly.

“And do you want the book or would you like to keep playing that racing game on your phone, watching as the battery drops every minute until you don’t have enough to get a text from Porthos?”

“I’m sure you have a charger with you.”

“Of course, I do, but what makes you think I’m going to let you borrow it?”

“Constance,” he mock whines.

“Take your pick.”

He takes the book with a thanks and tries to focus on the words, on stringing them together into coherent sentences, but every shift, every noise distracts him. In the end, he hands the book back and returns to his phone. Contrary to what Constance thinks, he’s not playing a racing game as it takes up too much space. Instead, he’s got a stash of stories on there to read, stories that are shorter and more light-hearted than what Constance offered. He opens up the app and starts trying to work through them.

Eventually, Athos, Porthos, and the Captain arrive in a flurry of worry. There are apologies in place of greetings and then questions. D’Artagnan does his best to answer them.

“Anything changed,” Porthos asks.

“Um, fever is still high, chest congestion is still there. It might be worse. The doctor didn’t like the sound of it but didn’t order any additional tests. He’s still not alert either. He’s woken several times but he’s seeing other things. Sometimes speaking another language. They’ve wanted to sedate or restrain him,” d’Artagnan explains.

“They can’t!”

“They haven’t. I’ve managed to get him settled. He’s really too weak to fight much more than the first minute or so anyway. He apparently hasn’t been eating. The doctor doesn’t like the drop in his weight either. And I don’t think he’s pleased with us as caretakers,” d’Artagnan adds quietly.

“We didn’t know. How could we? He’s always hiding and pulled away from us.”

“I did my best to explain things to him. He seemed to calm a bit after that, but the nurses come in a lot to check on him.”

“Why isn’t he up in a room yet,” Athos asks.

“There’s some debate on where he’s going. The doctor said something about ICU but there’s question on if he needs that level of care.”

“Is it just a cold or something more,” Treville asks.

“Pneumonia. He threw around malnutrition but didn’t say anything more about it. He was dehydrated too.”

Porthos curses. “Is there anything that wasn’t wrong?”

“I know it’s a lot,” Constance begins, “but at least he’s here getting the help he needs.”

“Yeah, there’s that.”

“We should probably give the two of you a break,” Athos says. “It’s not too cold out. Maybe walk around, stretch your legs.”

“We could go get some dinner for us. Captain, are you staying,” Constance asks.

“For now. I have to call Sarah to let her know what’s going on. Do you two want a ride somewhere?”

“No. We’ll walk around for a while and then figure out dinner. Any major objections to restaurants?”

No says anything but then no one really feels like eating but they know they need to. Constance leaves her bag and goes to wander around with d’Artagnan while Treville finds a quiet place inside to call Sarah leaving Porthos and Athos to look after Aramis.

“What’s on your mind,” Porthos asks after a long stretch of silence between them.

“This is quite a mess,” Athos finally says. “And there’s so much it seems we didn’t know.”

“Yeah. He should be fine though.”

“You sure about that?”

“You’re not?” Porthos turns to look at Athos. Before either can say anything more, Aramis wakes, muttering violently and twisting his body as if trying to shake off someone. Porthos and Athos are quick to move to his side, remembering with ease how to calm him. They don’t force him to be still but let their presence be known through words, repeating their calming mantra until he calms. Out of the corner of their eyes, they see the nurses come in but ignore them.

“Move aside, please. We’re going to have to restrain him,” one of the nurses says. She’s unfamiliar to them both and they refuse to move.

“That’ll make him worse. We’re calming him down,” Porthos says. “Just give us another couple minutes.”

“He’s only making himself sicker. If restraints aren’t good, we’ll sedate him.”

“No. Call him primary and talk to him about his treatment. He has PTSD and your methods are going to set it off.” Even as Porthos explains he wonders if maybe sedation would be worth the risk in this case. In between Aramis’ mixture of languages, the wet harsh coughs are growing worse and he’s struggling to catch a good breath. Sweat is breaking out on his forehead from the effort. The only good thing is that with the weakened body, the moving has calmed down and the muttering is soon too as well. When healthy, this would’ve been much harder and last longer.

One nurse leaves while the other stays, on the edge of watching. When the other one comes back, she brings the doctor with her and Aramis is settling down. The coughing, sweating, and breathing are still there but whatever he was seeing he isn’t anymore. Part of Porthos wonders if he even knew they were there. He never opened his eyes or turned to acknowledge them as he might’ve in the past. Instead, he’s curled in against himself as he struggles with the need to cough and breathe. They force him to lie on his back. A nurse changes the nasal cannula to an oxygen mask and the doctor checks his vitals.

“How’s he doing,” Porthos asks, feeling the patheticness of the question.

“These delusions he’s having aren’t helping him. Between the fever and congestion, they’re getting worse and then making both of those worse. I’m afraid there’s little choice but to send him up to ICU. He’ll get more consistent care and attention up there than we can give him here or on a regular floor. Hopefully, that will work to get the pneumonia under control. In his condition, it can easily become quite serious.”

“How serious, doctor,” Athos asks.

“It might prove fatal.”


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything gets worse? Athos, Porthos, and the others are trying their best to cope with the situation as it changes but find themselves overwhelmed and exhausted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of medical stuff in this chapter (and the coming chapters) and some of it (or a lot of it) may be wrong. I've done my best with research but probably didn't get everything right. And, yes, it's another depressing chapter (there's probably a good reason I had to take a break from writing this story) but I promise that I always put the characters back in mostly the same condition that I got them in. Well, not always, but this isn't one of those stories.
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

Porthos and Athos watch in a state of shock as Aramis is quickly whisked upstairs to the ICU. They’re not allowed to follow; the couple of nurses and machines accompanying him are enough to fill the elevator and they don’t want anyone getting in the way in case something happens. Porthos sends a text to d’Artagnan and Constance as Athos finds Treville. They won’t be allowed in to see Aramis for a while anyway, so there’s little good in going upstairs right away.

The change in Aramis’ status brings everyone back quickly, though Constance does force d’Artagnan to stop long enough to get dinner for them all. They take the food and themselves up to the waiting room, where they have it to themselves, stepping off the elevator just as the family that was in there enters the elevator. None of them feel much like eating, but they feed their hungry stomachs. The room is quiet save for the sounds of their eating and the TV updating them on the latest news.

By the time the doctor steps into the waiting room, calling out for Aramis’ family, it’s nearly 9 pm. Aramis has already been in the ICU for close to an hour and they’ve been done eating for half as long.

“How’s he doing?” Treville doesn’t wait for the others to speak. He feels them standing behind and next to him, but Aramis is more than his employee. He’s his boy and he needs to know how he is.

“He’s stable, but I’m concerned about the latest tests we’ve had done,” Dr. Farmeth says. He looks down at the tablet in his hands. “His O2 levels are lower than when he was first brought in and his urine output is low, but that could be from the dehydration. We’ll have to monitor and see what happens.”

“He’s been depressed. Severely depressed and on medication,” Porthos adds, feeling rather helpless.

“Yes, I’ve seen that in his records. We are treating that as well, but the depression is obviously the least of our concerns right now. His continued asthma is a bigger concern as it’s weakened his lungs and it’s making it more difficult to fight the pneumonia.”

“Continued asthma,” Treville questions. “I thought he was through the worst of it.”

“No, Captain,” Athos says. “It’s stuck around through the winter. We figured part of it was from the depression and lack of activity. It was a hard fall season for him and I doubt the coming spring is going to do him any good.”

“Whatever the reason, it’s not helping him right now,” Farmeth says. “The inability to get a good breath led to the quick build-up of fluid in his lungs and has made the pneumonia fairly severe. We may have to intubate soon if we can’t get his O2 back up. It’s not ideal, but it may need to be done.”

“So, severe pneumonia? That’s it,” Porthos asks, his tone more of questioning than harshness.

“It’s enough. Pneumonia can be fatal. Along with the breathing, the fever is consistently high and he’s having bad hallucinations. We don’t like sedating in his condition, so we’ve opted to restrain him. I understand your concerns, but he’s already torn his IV once and we don’t want to have that happen continually. We’ll quickly run out of places to stick it. Not to mention it’ll stress him out further.”

“Is he alert?”

“No, not really. He didn’t respond coherently the last time he woke, though he did fight against the restraints. As hard as it may sound, he is safe this way. He didn’t hurt himself. They’re soft restraints and he’s being monitored. There’s no signs of bruising.”

“Will we be able to stay with him,” Athos asks.

“Yes, though there may be times when we ask you to step out as we’re working with him and we need space. We do close visiting hours for a couple hours in the morning for cleaning and rounds. No more than two at a time and any children under 16 must be accompanied by an adult.” Farmeth pauses for a moment. “Now, before anyone goes in, you should know that in addition to the normal equipment he’s hooked up to for monitoring, I have authorized an NG tube. He’s just on the outside of the minimum for his height. We’re starting off easy, so we don’t upset his system. Getting weight back on is a goal, but not the primary objective.”

“We knew that he’d been eating less, but not that bad.” Porthos looks to the others, who share similar puzzled, guilty looks.

“I’m not pointing fingers. I don’t know his history, but if he was as depressed as you said, then he might’ve made a point to not let you know. I think they were even surprised down in the ER once they took the layers of clothing off.”

It doesn’t do much to make them feel better about not seeing the pain their friend was enduring, but they don’t pressure the doctor on it. Once he leaves, with a note that he’ll be on duty for a while, checking in regularly, they discuss the visiting schedule.

The Inseparables are quick to request leave, which doesn’t surprise Treville. It’ll work for the first week, but depending on how long Aramis’ recovery takes, they’ll have to look into going back to work in shifts.

“I can spend a lot of my time here,” Constance says, interrupting their conversation. “I’m just spending my days at home at this point working. It wouldn’t be too difficult to shift that work here.” She comes into the station for a day or two every week to do paperwork and attend meetings, but other than that, she is more free in terms of obligations.

“We can’t ask you to do that,” Porthos says.

“Why not? The four of you are planning on living here and he’s as much my friend as he is yours. I can do my research and writing here just as easily as I can at home. Better actually now as I’ll be at home worried about him.”

“You’re right. Sorry.”

“You’re worried. We’re all worried,” she says. “And we probably shouldn’t be wasting all of our time out here discussing what to do and leaving him alone in there. He may not be fully aware, but the emotions he’s going through when he does wake can’t be good for him.”

“Yes,” Treville nods, glancing down at his phone after it buzzes with an incoming text. “If you guys don’t mind, I’m going to head in first for a bit. Sarah wants me to come home for a few hours. The kids are worried and won’t calm down. She wants some help getting them into bed and reassuring them that their Uncle Aramis is doing okay.”

“Of course, Captain,” Porthos says. “One of us will be there soon. We just have some logistics to sort out.”

“Well, as you’re doing that, take this into consideration. I don’t want to see more than one of you in there at a time and for no more than an hour. Sarah will be by tomorrow likely to help out. And you five have to eat and leave this building regularly. A few times a day at least, with one of those ventures including going home for a solid eight hours of sleep. If I come back tomorrow evening and find that any of you have spent more than 24 hours in here and awake unless his condition is dire, then you’ll be banned from here for an entire day. Understand?”

They agree readily, grumbling slightly as their Captain knows them all too well. Their Captain then leaves them and makes his way into Aramis’ ICU room. There’s a nurse in there currently, checking his vitals and noting them on her tablet.

“Is he doing any better,” Treville asks hopefully.

“He’s holding his own,” she says absently as she finishes her notes and then looks up at him. “The fever is a little worse as is the breathing, but he hasn’t woken in another panic and delusional, so that’s good.”

“I know that Farmeth said the restraints were safe, but does he need to have them on if someone’s in here with him? We don’t plan on leaving him alone unless we have to.” Treville doesn’t like seeing the restraints and he knows that Aramis doesn’t like them either.

“Unfortunately, it’s for the best. I’m sure that Dr. Farmeth told you he ripped out his IV once, but if he’s unrestrained he could hurt himself more. And holding him down, as I’m sure you’re thinking you’d do, would only upset him more and possibly cause worse injury to him or whoever was holding him. This really is for the best,” she explains.

“I understand. I just had to ask. He doesn’t respond well to the restraints. He had them several years ago when he was injured and the doctors weren’t good about the type or their use. He tends to panic easily.”

“I can talk with Dr. Farmeth, but this really is for the best and we’re watching him closely. I assure you, we won’t let him come to any harm.”

“I know, I know. We’ve always had good care here, in this hospital. I know it’s for the best. Just the worries of a concerned father.” Treville sits down heavily in the chair.

“He’s your son?”

“Not in any conventional means. I’m more a father figure, I suppose. It’s not that he didn’t have a good dad. It just sort of happened when he needed someone to lean on, to help him through some rough patches.”

She nods before excusing herself to continue on her rounds. Her disappearance leaves Treville feeling a bit lost. He stands to move close to Aramis, finding his hand with his own. It’s awkward to hold with the arm held in the restraint, but Aramis doesn’t budge. Treville wonders if he might actually be resting now. The dark circles around his eyes show that he needs it desperately. He wonders how long it has been since Aramis got good sleep. What had happened in these last few weeks? They’d all been busy and Aramis seemed to have fallen into a steady routine of going to his appointments and staying in his room. It sounds horrible as Treville tries to justify their reasoning for leaving the young man alone in his misery. He knows that the others checked on him, spoke with him, and made sure he was okay. Or at least, he thought they did. That’s what they told him and they had little reason to lie. None of them want to see Aramis leave the task force.

Still, looking at Aramis’ thin, pale body, a sheet pulled up to his waist, EKG electrodes on his chest, Treville wonders if any of them had really looked. If they’d been worn down by the months of declining illness that being caught up in the frenziness of their work had seemed like a better option, an easier thing to do. Had work been that busy?

Farmeth was right, though. All of that didn’t matter at the moment. Right now, Aramis was sick, sick enough to be in the ICU without a clear prognosis. When he woke, when he was better, they would tackle the last few weeks. They’d find out what had gone wrong and work on getting him through the depression. They’d do better.

Treville stays with Aramis for a while longer, talking to him even though Aramis never wakes. When he leaves, he stops by the waiting room to let the others know to keep him up-to-date with what happens. He doesn’t know when he’ll be back, but he’s hoping to be back during the early morning. Leaving is hard but he has obligations at home that he can’t put aside.

In the waiting room, Athos opts to go first. None of them can decide what the order will be, so he volunteers. Porthos and d’Artagnan head home, using Constance’s car, to get their own car and overnight bags as well as a change of clothes for themselves and Athos.

The night passes with them taking their turns, sitting with Aramis and trying to sleep in the waiting room. The seats are comfortable and, fortunately, designed with moveable armrests so they can stretch out, but their worry over Aramis and guilt over having missed his decline keeps them from resting. For his part, Aramis continues to struggle with breathing and delusions from the high fever. He wakes a few times during the night, fighting weakly against the restraints and coughing as he attempts to gain his freedom from whatever he is seeing. They don’t understand him and can only guess at what his fever is conjuring up, but they do their best to get him calm again.

Morning comes with little celebration to them. Aramis is no better and, after a night of trying to sleep between worrying about him, they feel worn. It’s Constance’s turn to sit with Aramis, leaving the three men walking the hallway to stretch their legs.

“I don’t know how I’m going to get through today,” d’Artagnan says. “I mean, I want to be here for Aramis, but I’m not sure there’s enough caffeine to wake me up.”

“I know,” Athos agrees. “We’ve already had a long week and I doubt any of us really got good sleep leading up to this.”

“Maybe we should go home in shifts today,” Porthos suggests. “Treville wants us out of here anyway regularly,” he adds when the two look at him. “Two of us can go home and sleep for a while, then come back and relieve the others.”

“That could work. Do either of you feel rested enough to drive?”

Both shake their heads.

“Neither do I,” Athos agrees. “Uber it is then.”

It’s then a familiar voice calls out to them as they approach the nurses’ station.

“Megan,” Porthos says, the first to recognize her as the nurse from the ER they visit when they’ve had an injury at work. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m filling in for a friend. She had to go home for a family emergency and the ICU is already short a couple nurses due to the flu, so I volunteered to help out. The extra money will be nice when I’m heading out for vacation in a couple months. What are you three doing here? Where’s Aramis?”

“We’re here for him. He’s sick with pneumonia and wound up here because of his breathing issues and high fever.”

“Oh, no. The poor man just can’t catch a break. I heard about the depression and leave. He’s had such a rough year. I thought the new year might be better with him.”

“How’d you hear about all of that?”

“You officers are gossips, don’t you know? I get one of you in the ER and you don’t shut up about the latest happenings at your station. It’s not just the Musketeers, the police, too.”

“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.” Porthos doesn’t like that there’s been someone going around telling others about what happened with Aramis and from the looks on d’Artagnan and Athos, they don’t like it either. “Don’t spread it around any further, please. Aramis hasn’t been happy with what happened.”

“I’d never.” She gives them a warm smile. “What my patients tell me is confidential, unless it’s threatening, of course. Well, I better go get clocked in and ready for the shift. I’ll check in on Aramis later if he’s not on my rounds.” She waves a goodbye to them, which they return and they go their separate ways.

They eventually make their way back to the waiting room, running into Treville, who is carrying a bag of food and a coffee tray.

“I figured none of you would feel up to going out to get something to eat. Sarah did her best at calling in the order, so hopefully you all like it,” Treville says as a way of greeting.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Athos says. “Especially, considering we hadn’t even got that far in thinking about food save for wondering if there’s enough caffeine to wake us up for the rest of the day.”

“Something happen during the night? Your texts said nothing changed.”

“And nothing has,” Porthos says. “We’re just tired from a long weekend and spending the night here, worrying and wondering if he was going to be okay, didn’t help.”

“But you’ll be pleased to know that we’re going to be heading home to sleep in shifts later today,” Athos says. “Whenever we can get ourselves to actually leave.” Despite coming up with a plan for getting rest none of them had felt eager to volunteer to leave.

“If it helps, Sarah will be coming by later. She needs to get the kids to school and grab her homework for the day and then she’s planning on coming,” Treville says.

“It’s not a lack of people. It’s more the worry.”

“I understand, but remember that in taking care of him, you need to be sure to take care of yourselves. Hopefully, his visit will be short.”

“We’ll go home at some point today, Captain. It’s just going to take us some time to work ourselves up to it,” Porthos says.

Treville accepts their answer, understanding their concern about Aramis. While he’d been ill for a long time, the severity of it seemed to come on suddenly leaving them all in a state of shock and worry. He sits with them as they eat breakfast and then leaves to go into the station. Much as he would like to stay, he knows he can’t. Not only does he have to keep the station running, but he’s also having to play interference with Richelieu with the ending of Aramis’ leave about a week away. And he knows that as he’s working, they’ll keep him updated.

The morning is spent looking after Aramis in turns and toying with the idea of going home. Their tempers are short from worry and lack of sleep, leaving Sarah and Constance close to kicking all three out until the evening. When Porthos and d’Artagnan get into an argument about who’s heading home mid-afternoon, Sarah is ready to drive them both home when Athos rushes into the waiting room. It’d been his turn to sit with Aramis.

“What’s wrong,” Sarah asks, seeing the panic on Athos right away.

“His fever spiked, he’s seizing. They kicked me out so they could take care of him.” Athos runs a tired hand over his face and through his hair. He’s awake now, but it’s the sort of nauseating awake that comes with a sudden start. He feels like throwing up and before he knows, someone is helping him to sit and pushing his head down between his knees. Someone else is rubbing hand on his back. He takes several breaths, working to calm himself before he sits back up. They’re all around him, worrying about him and it makes him feel silly because it’s Aramis who’s sick.

“Here,” Porthos says, holding out a small can of ginger ale. Athos doesn’t know where he got it, but he’s grateful to see it. He thanks Porthos and takes the can, drinking slowly from it. The taste and carbonation do wonders for his nausea and he slowly starts feeling better.

“Better,” Porthos asks. He’s sitting next to Athos, on the edge of his seat.

“Yeah.” Athos lets out a breath as he sinks back into the chair.

“What happened?”

“Aramis had a seizure.”

“I got that. With you?”

“I don’t know. I just started feeling sick and then I was sitting down.” Athos looks up at them. Sarah’s sitting opposite him with d’Artagnan and Constance standing in front, all with worried looks.

“And now?” This time it’s Sarah who asks.

“Better, like I said.”

“You should probably rest more, then you’re going home. The three of you boys are going home to sleep for eight hours and get a good meal before you come back.”

“But Aramis…”

“As far as we know, he’s holding his own and will be whether you’re here or not.”

“I’ll sleep here. On the chairs. I don’t want to go home, not now.” Athos begins to shake but not from anger.

“Do you want to wind up in a room downstairs with an IV and unable to see Aramis?”

“Sarah, I will sleep here and once we know more about Aramis, once he’s stabilized, we’ll go home, but you didn’t see him. You didn’t see….”

And Sarah has to concede his point there. She didn’t witness what Athos had, which has clearly shaken the normally stoic man.

“Fine. Drink the rest of that, eat some of this, and then stretch out on the chairs. The same goes for the three of you.” She points to Constance, d’Artagnan, and Porthos. “Get a snack and stretch out. Take advantage of the room being empty now. I’ll wake you once I know more about Aramis.”

They reluctantly agree. She would prefer that they take advantage of her time here. Meg had gone to a friend’s house after kindergarten and soon the boys would be out of school for the day and would also be going to a friend’s house. She has to be heading home in an hour or two to collect the kids and get dinner together. Though she knows they’d like to see Aramis, she’s hesitant about bringing them, especially with Aramis doing worse. They know that he’s sick, but she worries about them be confronted with it like when Athos came in with the latest news and then nearly passed out himself. Perhaps over the weekend, when they have more time to deal with any repercussions and when Aramis might be doing better. Until then, she’s glad to have such understanding friends to allow the kids to stay for so long.

It seems the others have just settled when Farmeth comes to see them. They all quickly get up to meet him.

“First, he’s doing okay. The seizure was short, which is good. What’s not so good is that we can’t get the fever to break. He’s been on an antibiotic since last night, but it hasn’t had much of an effect, yet,” Farmeth explains.

“What’re the plans then,” Porthos asks.

“We’re going to keep him on the antibiotic. It can take time to have an impact. We’re also starting with some cooling packs to try to bring his temperature down. The seizure is concerning and our goal now is to keep the temperature down low enough to avoid more seizures.”

“And this will work?”

“I’m hopeful. It can take time for medication and treatment to have an effect. We’ll know more in the morning.”

“Is that a thing like, if he makes it through the night type thing,” d’Artagnan asks hesitantly.

“No, he’s not that bad off. But in the morning, we’ll know if the treatment is working and what to do next. We’ll keep monitoring, though, and if he grows worse through the night, we’ll make adjustments.”

“Okay.”

“But for now he’s doing okay. We’re watching him closely. And I would recommend that you all get some rest, outside of here. If you don’t want to go far, the hotel across the street is often happy to work with patients’ families.”

“We’ll think about it,” Porthos says. The doctor leaves them to talk and decide on their plans. Before they get too far in making plans, Sarah is on her phone. Though they quickly pick on her talking with the hotel, they wisely don’t push to speak with her while she’s on the phone.

“Alright,” she says once she’s done with her call. “There is a room with two beds booked at the hotel. I know that with Aramis’ condition, none of you are going to want to go back home, so here’s what going to happen because you can’t get good sleep here. Two of you will go there to sleep for at least four hours. Then you’ll trade off. Jean, I expect, will be here later tonight to help with watching him. Who’s going first?”

“Athos will,” Porthos says and fortunately, Athos doesn’t argue. Though he’s feeling better, exhaustion is quickly settling back in.

“I’ll go to,” d’Artagnan says. “If you guys are okay with it.”

Constance and Porthos agree easily.

“Alright, then. It’s all in my name, so I’ll head over with the two of you. Then I have to head out and collect the kids. Please keep me updated, though. Jean will be home later and once he’s had something to eat, I’ll send him over with some dinner. But if something happens, don’t hesitate to call.”

They agree and thank her for her help, apologizing for having taken her away from the kids.

“It’s fine. We’re a family. It’s what family does,” she tells them.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Aramis continues to grow worse, the doctor and nurses do what they can to save him while the others wonder what they could have done and if this is the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably getting the medical stuff wrong, so please excuse any inaccuracies. If you're still reading and you're waiting for something to happen, it will soon. This lull is necessary before things start happening again. 
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

Athos and d’Artagnan sleep longer than the few hours Sarah said to. They wake confused, sleepy, and hungry. Neither had bothered to do more than pull the blanket off the bed and take off their shoes before stretching out to sleep.

“You awake,” d’Artagnan asks once he hears signs of Athos shifting towards wakefulness. He’s been laying in bed for a while now, texting with Porthos, Constance, and Treville as Athos slept. He knew the older man was exhausted.

“Don’t really want to be, but yeah,” Athos says voice rough with sleep. “What time is it?” It’s dark in the room, but that does little to tell him what time it is.

“Two in the morning.”

“Two in the morning?” Athos starts into sitting. “We have to get back to the hospital. The others need a break.”

“Calm down. You’re going to make yourself sick again. They’re fine. Treville made Porthos and Constance get some sleep. He’s been taking over watching Aramis.”

“I’m fine,” Athos grumbles but does lay back down. He may have slept for hours but he still feels tired and the sudden jolt of adrenaline has only made him feel queasy. At this rate, he thinks, he’s not going to be any good in looking after Aramis.

“Yeah. Like I didn’t hear that groan.”

“Mind your own business, young man,” Athos teases. But he won’t deny, except to the others, that he does need a break. However terrible Aramis falling ill and winding up in the ICU has been, it did push his depression to the side, but he knows that it’s still there and pulling him down more even as he struggles to push forward to take care of Aramis.

“You texting with them,” Athos asks. His phone is somewhere but he can’t remember where and doesn’t feel like hunting for it. Besides, it’s dark and the darkness is comforting.

“Yeah. They’re doing okay.”

“And Aramis?”

“No improvement,” d’Artagnan says.

“Worse?”

“Nothing severe enough to call us back.”

“But,” Athos asks.

“Another seizure, O2 rates are still down, fever won’t break, and his heart rate is up.”

“That’s not enough to bring us back?”

“What would we have done? There’s nothing we can do but sit and watch, Athos.”

“We can be there.”

“But does he even know? He’s not really woken up in at least a couple days. Who knows how much longer than that? How long was he lying in his room, sick and confused?”

“You’re feeling guilty.” There’s no accusation or questioning in Athos’ voice.

“He’s our brother, Athos. We were supposed to be looking after him and we failed. And he’s really sick. No wonder he stopped trusting us,” d’Artagnan says.

Athos sighs, unsure of how to respond. Then, with some hopefulness, Athos says, “Whatever we think right now, whatever the case is, he is still our brother and we need to be there for him, for the others because they’re our family, too. He may not know that we’re there, but he will and more importantly, Porthos, Constance, Treville, and Sarah need us to be there to help.”

“I know, but I still think what could we have done.”

“We’ve done what we could,” Athos says and for the most part, he believes that. “But for now, we should get back to the hospital. Tell them we’ll pick up some food and coffee on the way over.”

Athos forces himself to stand, feeling his way around the room until he gets to the bathroom. It’s going to be a long day, especially starting so early.

They’re mostly awake when they finally step off the elevator to the ICU, coffee and donuts in hand. In the waiting room, they find Constance dozing and Treville staring at the TV, eyes glazed over. Their arrival jolts Treville back into awareness.

“How’re you two doing,” he asks, stretching in his seat.

“Rested,” d’Artagnan says.

“That’s good. And you’ve brought coffee.”

“Yes, but not for the three of you,” Athos says.

“I think I asked you to make sure you brought coffee, d’Artagnan.”

“We thought it over, Captain. You three should go get some rest,” d’Artagnan says. “Coffee isn’t going to help that. We do have enough donuts though.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“We didn’t want to either, but we did,” Athos says.

“I can’t leave and there’s only two beds.”

“You and Porthos can share.”

“And how would it look for Constance to be entering with two men?”

“I doubt they’d think anything of it,” Constance says, eyes still closed. “And what’s more, I don’t care what they think.”

“Maybe but I’m not leaving.” Treville gives them the sternest look he can manage from where he sits. If he stood, he’s sure that he’d fall back down, which would ruin his argument.

“You need to get some sleep because I’m sure you’re planning on going into work tomorrow,” Athos reasons.

“And I will sleep. Here.”

“And how’s that been going?”

“I’m waiting to go into relieve Porthos, so I’m working on staying awake.”

“No, you’re not. Have a donut and then stretch out on the chairs,” Athos says. He opens up the box of donuts and offers it to Treville. “One of us will relieve Porthos. Constance, you and Porthos will head over to the hotel to get some sleep.”

“Okay,” Constance says. She gets up to grab a donut and settles down next to Treville. Athos gives her a questioning look when she readily agrees. “I know you’ll keep us up-to-date. And we need sleep if we’re going to keep up this vigil.”

Once he’s had a donut, Athos goes to relieve Porthos even though the hour’s not up. He finds Porthos hanging around the outside of the room.

“What’s going on,” Athos asks

“Nurse is checking on Aramis, asked me to step out while she did,” Porthos explains.

“That’s odd.”

“Something about updated procedures with him growing more ill and wanting visitors to keep clear while they work on him. It doesn’t last long. Ten minutes or so.”

“And so you decided to just wait out here? Why not come back to the waiting room?”

“I can hear if he’s having any trouble here.”

“Delusions?”

“Yeah. The fever’s still high and while he’s not been waking up much, he might and I don’t care if they want us out of there, I’m not leaving him alone when he thinks he’s out somewhere alone.”

“Understand. Well, I talked with the others. You and Constance are going to head back to the hotel. Treville will sleep in the waiting room, but mostly because I don’t think we’re going to get him to budge.”

“No, not with Aramis being so sick will we get him to leave. He’s only going to work to keep Richelieu off our backs and Aramis’.”

“There’s donuts. Grab one and head to the hotel. We’ll keep you updated as much as we can.”

“Are you sure you and d’Artagnan are good to go? One of us can stay to help.”

“We’re fine and we’re more rested than the two of you. Sleep as long as you want. Goodness knows, d’Artagnan and me did.”

“You needed it, Athos. You scared me earlier when you almost passed out.”

“And don’t deny that you and Constance need sleep either. Everything’s clean. We only managed to pull down the covers. We didn’t even get under the sheets.”

“Okay.”

Athos hands off the room key and reminds Porthos to have d’Artagnan hand Constance the other. He then takes up the wait until the nurse is done and he can go into the room. After a few minutes, he’s anxious to get in the room to see Aramis and decides to ignore the request to stay out until the nurses are done. He’s been out long enough anyway even though he’s not sure how long Porthos was standing outside. In the room, he finds the nurse working with a syringe, emptying out the contents of a syringe into the hazardous material bin.

“Hi,” Athos says, startling the young nurse. “How’s he doing?”

“Not as good as we’d hoped. His breathing is starting to get into a dangerous territory.”

“And the pneumonia? Are the antibiotics working?”

“Not so far. Farmeth will be in in the morning to decide where to go. Intubation is looking more likely at this point and sedation to keep him calm during that. He’s not been waking up as much, but the last thing we really want is for him to panic while intubated when he’s delusional.”

“Oh.” Athos isn’t quite sure of how to respond, feeling overwhelmed by how much worse Aramis seems to be doing. It was just a few days ago they thought he was severely depressed with a cold. That seems such a long ways away from now and so much easier.

“We’re not to that point yet though. I’m sorry if I alarmed you. Up here in the ICU, I feel it’s best that patients’ families are always informed of the possibilities. I don’t like sugar coating things.”

“No, I appreciate it. It’s just hard to believe we’ve come to this point considering what I thought the status quo was a few days ago. It’s a lot to take in. I know he’s getting the best care here.”

“Cases like these can change rapidly, but we are doing everything we can. We’re doing our best to be proactive and give him the best survival rate.”

Athos is quiet.

“Any other questions or concerns,” the nurse asks.

“No.” Athos shakes his head.

“Remember that if you need us, just press the button. I’ll be back in an hour to check on him.”

Athos nods, eyes locked on Aramis as the nurse leaves. He’s vaguely aware of anything outside of the rhythm of Aramis’ body. The heartbeat electronically marked on the EKG, the wet breathing punctuated with the occasional coughs fogging up the oxygen mask, and the silence, Aramis is far too silent himself both vocally and physically. Aramis has his quiet moments, but the man has more the energy of d’Artagnan than of a man his age, always shifting, moving, doing something. And now, he doesn’t even fight against the restraints. Athos moves closer to the still man. He rests a hand on his chest, avoiding the EKG lines. Outside of the heat, he feels Aramis’ struggles to keep his body alive. Somewhere, there’s the errant thought, wondering if it might be Aramis’ body trying to keep Aramis alive. Had their friend simply given up? He hadn’t told them he was sick. He hadn’t said anything. It wouldn’t be the first time Aramis had simply opted to give up. Athos knew Aramis was struggling with yet another recurrence of depression, feeling impossibly worn by this bout. Maybe it’d all been too much and this was the outcome. If that truly was the case, then Athos knew there was little they could do beyond intensive medical intervention to stop Aramis. He’d been hospitalized, nearly institutionalized, for suicide before. But, if this is what it took, then they’d do it because underneath everything, he knew and Aramis knew, this wasn’t what he really wanted.

For a long moment, Athos is quiet but finds that it’s too quiet for sharing the room with his friend.

“We’ve kind of been here before, haven’t we, Aramis?” Athos keeps his voice low, but loud enough that Aramis could hear if he was awake. “I’m not sure how we’re making it out of this one though. You’ve got our attention now, though. I’m sorry that you didn’t before.”

As Athos continues talking he sits down, dragging the chair closer. He wants Aramis to feel their presence, to know that they’re there even if he’s not alert. His voice goes hoarse, but he keeps talking until d’Artagnan startles him.

“What’s going on?” d’Artagnan moves next to Athos.

“Keeping up my end of the conversation,” Athos says.

“He’s not carrying his weight, is he?”

“I think we can give him a pass, given the circumstances.”

“Any change?”

“No. The nurse is going to be by soon, probably. I guess we have to step out during their checks now,” Athos says.

“Yeah, that’s what Constance said before they headed out.”

“Is Treville sleeping?”

“I think so. It’s not quite sound, but I don’t imagine it could be on those chairs. He needs to get some better sleep.”

“You want to try telling him that?”

“No, but you could,” d’Artagnan counters.

“I know which battles to fight and which are a lost cause. Besides, Sarah will stop him when he’s pushed himself too far. She’s good at getting through that tough exterior.”

“Are you going to keep talking to him or would you like a break?”

“I need to move around a little, I think.”

d’Artagnan just settles in to keep Aramis company when the nurse arrives, asking him to step outside briefly. She’s one of the nurses who’s been taking care of Aramis since his arrival in the ICU.

“How’s he doing,” d’Artagnan asks anxiously from the doorway. He watches as the nurse works with a syringe, pulling a measured amount of a liquid from a small bottle.

“Not much of a change from before, which is good. But there’s still no significant improvement.”

“I’d hoped we’d see something by now.”

“Farmeth will be in in a couple hours to re-evaluate. He’ll probably order some changes so we can get him to turn the corner.” She cleans up her supplies and makes a few notes on her tablet before moving on to her next patient. d’Artagnan comes back in, settling down in the chair. He’s not sure if he should talk like Athos. He sits for a few moments, watching and thinking.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing, Aramis. I’m really just guessing and doing what the others are doing. They’re so much more confident that I am. More experienced. I guess I should be glad I’m not experienced in this kind of thing, but I wish there was a guide somewhere. It seems silly to talk to you when you probably can’t even hear or understand me. Any time you wake up, you’re not really here. I’m guessing when you’re unconscious, you’re not really here either. You’re probably dreaming something terrible. I wish you weren’t though.”

d’Artagnan takes a breath.

“You don’t deserve to dream such terrible things. You’re a good man, even to a hapless farmboy lost in the middle of the big city. That day, you gave me some hope that not everything was terrible here. That maybe I’d find some kindness. I looked for you later. When I started college. I went back to that same alley and wandered for hours. I even asked around and no one knew anything. I thought you were dead.”

He hadn’t found the truth until later, at the college fair his junior year, and even now, he’s positive he doesn’t know the full story. It’s not from a lack of trust, but it’s not something Aramis likes to dredge up.

As the early morning turns to dawn, Athos and d’Artagnan continue watching Aramis, changing off every hour. Their time is spent talking from reminiscing about memorable events to the mundane. All the while, Aramis seems to grow worse. Treville wakes from a restless sleep just as d’Artagnan comes in with coffee and some fruit cups.

“How’re you feeling, Captain,” d’Artagnan asks.

“That’s not the worst night of sleep. How’s Aramis doing?”

“Farmeth is running some blood tests. All of his numbers are worse and he’s talking more seriously about intubating.”

“Damn. I’d hoped for something.”

“Athos is in with him now.” d’Artagnan hands him a coffee and one of the fruit bowls. They eat in silence. He figures Porthos and Constance must still be asleep as neither has texted them for an update. Like him and Athos, they probably crashed the moment they entered the room.

“I’m going to go check on Aramis,” Treville says, standing. “I’ll have to head out soon after that but make sure that you and Athos take another break today. Go to the hotel and get some rest. I know he’s getting worse, but you need a break.”

“We’ll try but it’s kind of hard not to be here.”

Treville nods, understanding d’Artagnan’s concern. Outside of Aramis’ room, he finds Athos standing and watching.

“Something going on?” Treville takes a close look at Athos, ignoring the unkempt look that they’ve all taken on, seeing instead a new look of concern on the man’s features.

“His O2 dropped and he couldn’t get a good breath, so the nurse made the call to intubate him. Farmeth is in there now doing the procedure and checking things. He’ll be sedated too. The only good thing is that the restraints are going away, not that it really matters,” Athos trails off, a hopelessness clear in his words.

“I keep thinking he has to make a turnaround, he has to improve at some point, but he seems to be working on proving me wrong.” Treville leans against the door opposite Athos.

Athos looks away, watching as Farmeth and the nurses work. Treville sees him thinking.

“Have you noticed something?”

“I… I’ve just been thinking. There’s a lot of time to do that lately. We might be fighting a losing battle, Captain.”

“No. This is Aramis. He doesn’t give up even when he wants to. He’s always fought.”

“Then why didn’t he tell us what was going on? He knew he was sick. Even before he found some way without really telling us that something wasn’t right. But this time, Captain? This time he didn’t.”

“You think he’s given up.”

“I don’t want to but there’s no fight in him. I think it’s more his body that’s fighting than himself,” Athos says.

“I’m not giving up on him,” Treville says.

“I’m not saying that we do. Maybe something will work. Maybe intubating will give his body a break and he can start to fight the pneumonia. And then when he’s better, we fight for him.”

Treville nods, sighing lightly.

“You can come in now,” Farmeth calls out to them. They walk over to Aramis, where Farmeth is making a few notes on his tablet.

“Is there any good news,” Treville asks.

“I’m afraid not. His lab work is back and we’ve got the start to a deeper infection. His kidney function continues to be low and we are seeing signs in other organs of similar issues.”

“Organ failure?”

“A sign of sepsis. I’m starting him on a new course of antibiotics, which have proven to be successful in combating sepsis.”

“But?”

“But we’ve normally seen some sort of improvement at this point if a patient is to survive. I’m puzzled as to what’s going on to cause his decline. The bloodwork doesn’t indicate anything.”

“What are you saying?”

“We’re going to keep looking, keep trying, but his chances are declining. I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Aramis is a fighter.”

“I’m sure he is but at some point, medicine can only do so much.” Farmeth pauses. “Look, I’m not saying that it’s a matter of hours, but we are in a critical period where we have to see some improvement. Sepsis can take him quickly.”

“What’s this period looking like?”

“The next 24-36 hours we have to see some improvement. I wish I could stay here, but I have other patients to get to. It’s morning rounds. I’ll be back around later, where I’ll be happy to answer more questions.”

“Yeah. Okay, thanks.” Treville feels numb as the doctor leaves. The idea that he might lose Aramis had lingered in his mind, had for the last several weeks but it was more a reality now than before.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio and Constance start noticing odd things happening around Aramis and the decision is made to call his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of medical stuff that's probably not accurate. I've done research but it's all Google research so it's not 100% trustworthy. And I'm sorry for this chapter. It's intense, as I've been told. 
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

Treville somehow manages to pull himself away to go home, see his family, change, and go to work but his productivity is marred by the constant notifications on his phone, worried that each might be a text bearing more bad news. While there is nothing dramatically worse, each report shows no improvement and further infection.

Back in the ICU, Athos and d’Artagnan have rather reluctantly gone back to the hotel. Their several hours of sleep the night before have been worn away by worry. Sarah spends her day with Porthos and Constance, taking her turn in sitting with Aramis. It becomes tedious as their concern grows and they await each test result and nurse visit for the potential for improvement.

Early afternoon finds Constance sitting in the ICU room, chair still as close to the bed as Athos had moved it. She’s tried studying, editing or even writing up the works cited because that doesn’t take much brain power, but she can’t block out Aramis. It’s not so much the machines, but his stillness. It’s not Aramis.

“Everyone thinks you’ve given up,” Constance says, not knowing that she’s kept up Athos’ talking to Aramis. “I think even Treville thinks it. They’ve not given up, but I can see it in their eyes that they’re doubting. I don’t think you’ve given up, though. I think you’re just so worn down you don’t know how to fight back. It happened with Paul sometimes.

“Some time you’ll have to meet him. I think you and him would get along well. Some time you and I’ll have to take a trip up to the farm and you can meet all five of my brothers. They have been dying to meet the people I work with, especially you. Drew is itchy to meet the man he thinks talked me into such a dangerous profession. I’d be careful around him and Alex. They like to team up to pull pranks. Don’t worry, they’re good about not doing anything that might trigger the target. They got quite used to that with Paul. There for a while we never could sort out his triggers. He’s better now though but not ready to leave home. I’m not sure if he ever will be, not that mom and dad mind. They’re just glad to have him.”

Constance is lost in her one-sided conversation when a nurse comes in. Without hesitation, she steps out, waiting just inside the doorway, leaning against the frame. It’s one of the usual nurses. Jess is her name. Constance likes how she treats Aramis, talking with him even though he’s unconscious.

She watches, mind drifting, as Jess goes through the usual process of checking on Aramis. The vitals are first, noting them on the tablet, then checking the wires and machines, making sure that everything is connected and reading correctly. The last thing is the medications. The antibiotic is still good, but Constance remembers the saline would need to be replaced. Jess pulls a new bag from her pocket and starts setting it up. A noise from the hall pulls Constance’s attention away for a moment but when she looks back she sees Jess discarding a syringe.

“Everything okay,” Constance asks, quickly stepping into the room. Jess is finishing up with the saline.

“Yes, everything checks out okay. I’m going to send Dr. Farmeth the latest vitals so he can check them. He’s asked to be kept updated.” Jess works on cleaning up her mess.

“You had a syringe. Is something wrong? I didn’t think he was getting any other medication from the antibiotic.”

“It was just to clear the port. The last thing he needs is problems there. I’m sorry to rush out, but I have other patients I need to get to.”

“Yes, of course. Sorry.” Constance moves out of the way. The explanation makes sense, but it still seems on the odd side. She hadn’t seen another of the other nurses do that, but perhaps she hasn’t been paying close enough attention.

“You ready for a break,” Porthos asks as he walks in the room.

“Yeah.” She shakes her head to clear the thoughts.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Constance pauses. “Just worried. The nurse, Jess, has just been by. Nothing out of the ordinary, but I don’t think there’s been any positive changes.”

“Damn.”

“I know but there’s still time. He’s not gone yet.”

“I know, I know, but it’s just so serious and nothing is changing. It’s like all of these medicines are just water with how bad he seems to keep getting.”

“That wouldn’t happen. I think it’s just as Farmeth has been saying, antibiotics take time to work and they’re now fighting an uphill battle with the infection.”

“I know.” Porthos sighs. “Sarah was going to get some snacks for lunch if you’re hungry.”

“Not really, but I guess I should eat something.” She’d refused breakfast, worry overriding the pangs of hunger. Giving Aramis a last look, she grabs her bag and wanders back to the waiting room leaving Porthos to take his watch.

At some point, neither Porthos nor Constance pays much attention, Sarah goes home to take care of the kids and Athos and d’Artagnan return. Aramis continues his decline causing Porthos and Constance to continually delay their turn to sleep, instead of dozing off as they sit in the waiting room until someone comes back with news hourly. Treville comes and it might be earlier than before; he spent a day working without realizing what he was doing until Bob, one of the senior Musketeers, came in and suggested that he head to the hospital to check up on Aramis and give them an update.

“You’ve got us all here, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. He can’t recall how long it’s been since he’s slept, but it’s been several days since he’s really slept. He sleeps at the hotel but it’s in fits and starts, marred by dreams and panics that every buzz from his phone will be news that this is the dreaded moment.

“I don’t know what you can hear. If you’re aware of anything. The others have been talking with you. I don’t think they planned it but they’re all doing it. It seems silly to me but then look at me now, talking to you about it. I know everything thinks that talking to you will encourage you but how do we know?”

Porthos sighs, leaning back in the chair. His hand slides down to Aramis’ leg. Over the course of the night, his heart rate has increased and organ function has continued to decline. The nurses regularly check for changes in his skin, looking for signs of tissue damage that might lead to gangrene and amputation. Nothing has shown fortunately even as everything points to a worsening infection they can’t get ahead of. Before he left for the night, Farmeth advised that they get in touch with any family. There had been a debate on the subject.

“Would he want his family here,” d’Artagnan asks. “He never goes to see them. I don’t even think he talks to them.”

“It’s not entirely by choice,” Athos says.

“Really?” Porthos gives Athos a questioning look. “He’s chosen not to get in touch with them for years.”

“He’s worried. I’m not saying that it’s the right choice he’s made, but they’ve been estranged since he came back from Afghanistan almost. The tension is mostly Aramis’ doing,” Athos explains. “He was very much unstable when he lived with them after his discharge and it didn’t end well. They never got mad as far we’ve understood but he did leave after an incident and opted to live on the streets.”

“I’ll give them all a call,” Sarah says. They look at her in confusion. “Aramis may not be in touch with them, but they’ve been concerned. I don’t betray his confidence, but I do keep them updated on how he’s doing. I couldn’t deny his mom’s frantic questions after his initial disappearance. She knew that he was close with us and thought he might come by.”

“They should have the choice,” Constance says.

“They’ll want to be here.”

“They’re all coming up. Two of your sisters and your mom,” Porthos tells Aramis. He takes a quick drink from his water bottle and sets it aside. “From what Sarah’s said your mom burst into tears at the news and Maria said she hasn’t stopped crying. Your mom isn’t in a state to drive and neither is Sonya, so I asked my brother to pick them up. He’s going to drive them up here since they’re staying nearby. We’re all rallying around, you ‘Mis. You can’t leave without talking to your mom. You can’t do that to her. I’ll never forgive you if you do.”

“Any change, Porthos,” Megan asks, startling him as she comes up to Aramis’ side opposite him.

“Not since you were by an hour ago.”

“Well, he’s still here, so that’s something.”

Porthos nods before standing to leave the room. The nurses don’t even have to ask them anymore and, fortunately, they don’t complain about them waiting in the doorway. He thinks he should probably go back to the waiting room to see if there’s news on Aramis’ family. His brother’s been in touch about Aramis’ mother and Sonya, but he doesn’t know about the others. It’ll be a bit before anyone can get back in with Aramis, anyway. He’s just turned to step away when he realizes that his water bottle is still on the floor next to the chair. He gives Megan a quick apology as he walks back into the room. As he turns to leave, he catches sight of Aramis and hopes that something will change so his family’s not coming for a funeral. Megan is busy with the usual routine, the only change being a syringe that he sees her inserting the contents of in Aramis’ IV port. She doesn’t seem to notice him there as she continues working and he quickly leaves so as to not disturb her work.

Whether it’s exhaustion or being deep in thought, he makes it to the waiting room without realizing it. It’s only Constance’s questioning that brings him to awareness.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about Aramis. Megan’s in there with him now. She was giving him a shot of something when I left,” Porthos says.

“A shot? That’s new,” Athos says. They turn to see him sitting, legs stretched out and exhausted, looking up at them with a tired expression.

“Jess gave him a shot, too,” Constance says. “She said it was to clear out the port. Megan was probably doing the same. This is one of the longer checks.”

“It might’ve been that,” Porthos says.

“It was before adding a new saline bag.”

“I didn’t see if she was doing that. It’s Megan though. I’m sure she was doing whatever she needs to look after ‘Mis.”

“Of course,” Constance says.

“Where’s Treville,” Porthos asks as he takes a seat next to Athos. d’Artagnan is dozing on the other side.

“He went out for a walk. Sarah called.”

“I think he also said something about coffee and donuts,” Athos says.

“Coffee sounds good. It’s been a long night,” Porthos says. “None of them have left the hospital aside from taking some brief walks outside to wake up. It isn’t long before Megan pokes her head into the waiting room to give them the all clear. d’Artagnan, who woke shortly before Megan came, pushes himself to his feet and goes to take his turn. Sitting with him, he tries to talk, to keep up the conversation, but it’s exhausting.

He’s jolted back when the familiar rhythm of the EKG changes and then before he can consider what it means, there’s a loud beep and nurses rush in, telling him to leave the room as they surround Aramis and then they ignore him. He stands on the edge, not quite at the door as they talk quickly, assessing and planning. When they pull out the defibrillator he stays long enough to see Aramis’ feet jolt before nearly running back to the waiting room.

“What happened?” Porthos is the first to speak as they all stand to meet him, knowing from his sudden appearance that something isn’t right.

“His heartbeat. It was off. They all rushed in and pushed me away. I don’t know what was going on, but they shocked him with those paddles like on TV. His feet moved. I don’t know if he’s okay. Shit. I should’ve stayed.” d’Artagnan turns to leave but finds himself stopped by a firm hand on his arm.

“Sit down, d’Artagnan,” Porthos says. “Take a breath.”

“I should’ve stayed there to see.” d’Artagnan sits but he doesn’t calm down.

“It’s fine.” Athos kneels in front of him. “They’re taking care of him. There’s nothing that you can do. Nothing that we can do.”

“But it was his heart. People die when their heart doesn’t work. What if he dies and no one’s there?”

Athos exchanges a look with Porthos, swallowing hard at the thought. “We may not be in there, but we’re here, d’Artagnan. Aramis will forgive us for not being around all the time. He wouldn’t expect us to neglect ourselves. He wouldn’t want us to.”

“We’ll wait here together. Someone will be by soon to let us know what’s going on,” Porthos says. He and Constance have taken seats on either side of d’Artagnan. He has a hand on the younger man’s back, rubbing circles in a way that he hopes in comforting.

They sit like that for several minutes until Treville returns. He pales at the news, sinking into the chair closest to him.

“Have you heard anything,” he asks.

They shake their heads.

“I’m going to go find out.”

“He’s okay,” Megan says. She stands in the doorway, looking at the group. “His heart’s not back to a normal sinus rhythm but it’s not as irregular. He’s going to be monitored much closer now, which will limit your visitations to no more than twenty minutes an hour.”

“What caused the irregular heartbeat,” Porthos asks.

“We don’t know yet. It’s likely a worsening of the infection but Farmeth has ordered more blood tests. He’ll be in around the time the tests are back.”

“Can we see him now,” Treville asks.

“Only two of you and briefly. No more than a few minutes. As I said, we’re monitoring him quite closely now.”

“Alright, who wants to go with me?”

There’s a pause before Athos suggests that d’Artagnan go.

“No,” the young man says quickly.

“It’ll do you good to see that he’s okay. He was in there when it happened,” Athos explains to Treville.

“But he’s not,” d’Artagnan counters.

“He is. I won’t force you, but I do think you should go for your peace of mind, so you can see yourself that he’s still alive.”

d’Artagnan takes a breath and nods. He stands to join Treville and the two follow Megan out to Aramis’ room. It’s a relief to see him still alive, though he seems more pale and fragile, though that might be d’Artagnan’s imagination. They stay long enough to confirm that he’s still alive, a length of time that seems to drag. Then Megan is ushering them out.

“I’ll let you know when you can see him again,” Megan says.

Treville thanks her and steers them back to the waiting room. There the others sit, idly drinking coffee as the donuts sit, hunger quickly forgotten.

“He’s fine,” Treville says before they can ask. “Well, as fine as he can be now. With luck, this is just a one-time occurrence and he’ll be fine.” Treville isn’t convinced as he speaks. “I need to go make a couple calls, but if something happens call me.”

While Treville is gone, Farmeth comes in with the results of the blood test.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have much in the way of good news,” Farmeth says. “Blood tests showed a toxin in his blood. We don’t know how long it’s been there and the testing we can do here can’t identify the toxin. It’ll be at least twelve hours until we know more.”

“A toxin,” Porthos questions. “How did you not detect this sooner?”

“We weren’t testing for it. The tests I ordered focused on finding infections. I ordered an expanded range of tests after the irregular heartbeat showed up and we found the toxin.”

“Any idea of what type or what it might be doing?”

“No, but we know that it’s not related to the infection. That the blood tests have revealed.”

“So, someone would’ve had to have given it to him?”

“We don’t know. It might be that, it might be something else. I’ve ordered a new IV to be put in, in case that might be the source of the toxin.”

“The IV?”

“The syringe, Porthos,” Constance says, turning to face him.

“What syringe,” Athos asks.

“Porthos and I saw Jess and Megan giving Aramis something with a syringe.”

“They were probably flushing out the port. It has to be done regularly,” Farmeth says,

“That’s what they said,” Porthos says.

“Our nurses are highly trained and dedicated to their jobs. If anyone was going to tamper with his IV it’s more likely to be one of you.”

“We’d never.” The others echo Porthos’ statement with similar indignation.

“And it wouldn’t be the nurses. If there was any tampering, then it’d have to be a visitor and from what I’ve heard, his only visitors have been you guys.”

“What’s this about accusing my Musketeers of tampering,” Treville asks quickly moving from the doorway to stand between the doctor and the others.

“The blood tests showed an unknown toxin in Aramis,” Constance says.

“And how does that lead to accusations of tampering being thrown around?”

“Your team has said that they witnessed two nurses injecting something in Aramis’ IV. I’ve explained, as the nurses did, that they were just flushing out the port, which is common practice and necessary,” Farmeth says.

“We did see them, though, Captain,” Porthos says. “Constance and I both saw Jess and Megan injecting something.”

“Did you see what it was,” Treville asks.

“No. There was a bottle, but I didn’t see what it said.”

“I didn’t either,” Constance says. “But it doesn’t change what we saw.

“You all are tired, strained. It can easily lead anyone to conclusions,” Treville says, his own exhaustion clear.

“We know what we saw, though,” Porthos says. “You know us better than to think that we’d let some lack of sleep lead us to the wrong conclusions and we have evidence.”

“You have vague reports, Porthos. And if you interrupt me again, you’ll be out of here. I’m not in the mood,” Treville says, stopping Porthos when he tries to speak again. “We have no reason to suspect anything of the nurses, so we’re going to let them continue to do their job.”

“But what we saw,” Constance says.

“As I said, it’s not credible evidence to do anything with. I know who you guys are, but you should know from these last several months that vague reports and hearsay aren’t enough to build a case. More likely, you all need some good sleep. It’s been a stressful several days after a stretch of stressful weeks. Normally, I would send you home to sleep, but given the circumstances, I want all of you to find a place in the waiting room and sleep. We’re not going to be able to get back in for a while to see Aramis and they’ll keep us updated.”

“Does that include you, too, Captain,” d’Artagnan asks. There’s a moment of silence as the others wonder at d’Artagnan’s guts in proposing the question.

“Of course. I’ve already notified the station that I’ll be here today. Sarah is getting the kids off to school and then she’ll be by. But for now, let’s get some rest.” Treville turns to Farmeth then. “I apologize for my team, doctor. Their exhaustion seems to have gotten the better of their reasoning abilities. Please know that we trust you and the team of nurses. We’re just quite stressed.”

“It’s not the worst, I assure you. As I explained to the others, we’ll know more in twelve hours, when the results of further blood tests come back. If I’ve heard from the nurses correctly, Aramis’ family is coming by later?”

“Yes, they’re coming from out of town. They should be up in an hour or two.”

“When they arrive please alert a nurse and I’ll come talk with them.”

Treville thanks him and Farmeth leaves without further word.

“What are you all waiting for? Get some rest. Sarah is taking care of Aramis’ family. So, the only thing left to you is to get some rest so you don’t accuse anyone else needlessly and can be decent to his family,” Treville says, scolding harsher than is necessary but the use of anger eases some of his roil of emotions.

Though they do lay down or lean against the wall as suits them, sleep is hard to come. While their minds are still racing with worries about Aramis, the lack of movement has a soporific effect on everyone except Porthos. He waits for a while, shifting and turning on the chair to find a comfortable position, but he soon gives up, standing to stretch before wandering out of the room. Sitting around in situations like these is not something he’s accustomed to. As a child, he quickly learned that no one was going to help him or his family if he didn’t take action. His neighbors in Chicago would help but many of them had needs of their own that had to be met first. And in Fisher, he was looked on with question and suspicion more often and scorn when he refused to join the football team, choosing the math team and chess club instead. He knows that he’s been difficult to deal with this past few months, that his need to take action has put him at odds with Aramis more so than ever in their friendship.

And now, now seems like the worst time to be idle. He knows what he saw and he trusts what Constance and Athos say they saw. It frustrates him to not be backed up by Treville, who surely must know that they’re capable, must trust in their observational abilities. Even with little sleep in the past, Treville’s trusted their work. But now he’s claiming stress and exhaustion is clouding their judgment, all of which is a lie.

His wandering, lost in thought, has brought him outside of Aramis’ room, which is quiet and empty save for Megan, of course, Aramis. Instead, however, of Megan standing with her back facing the door, she’s on the opposite side of the bed where the IV has been moved. Porthos watches her with a small bottle in one hand and a syringe in the other, pulling some of the liquid out.

“How’s he doing,” Porthos says, startling Megan. She looks up, tossing the bottle on the bed. Then, without hesitation, she injects the contents of the syringe in the port.

“Hey, what was that?” Porthos steps into the room.

“Just something to flush out the IV,” Megan says, moving to stick the syringe in the hazardous materials bin. Porthos quickly comes to the bed, grabbing a glove from the box on the way, using it to pick up the bottle. Though he can read the name, he can’t tell what it’s for except that it can’t be good with the skull and bones warning on the label.

“What did you give him?” Porthos is firmer this time.

“Medicine to help him.”

It’s then that EKG flatlines and a warning tone pierces the room. Porthos is pushed aside as Megan turns to work on Aramis and soon the room is filled with nurses. Still, the only sound Porthos hears is the steady tone of Aramis dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fisher is a real town in Illinois, just north of where I grew up. Their mascot is the bunny, which of course earned them a lot of jokes when it came to sports. I chose the town as in part because I always enjoyed the name the Fisher Bunnies. In case you're interested in a little Illinois history, it's also close to Rantoul where many people who lived in Chicago's projects were relocated to when they tore down the buildings. Porthos and his family were part of this move but his mom chose to take the resettlement money and go to Fisher where she thought her sons' prospects would be better. 
> 
> And, I'm really, really sorry about that ending. It just worked. I promise he'll be fine, mostly...


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More suspicions are cast on Aramis' treatment while the others simply try to keep up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting. A blizzard hit the area and I was on the road last night trying to get home ahead of it. Chapters for the foreseeable future will be at least every other week. I'm in a crunch period with school and I took a month off of writing this story because the last couple chapters were quite difficult to write, so I don't have a backlog of chapters ready to go. I am working on it, but school has to take priority. I do, however, have a short story that'll be coming out in the next week and chapters will be posted throughout the next month. 
> 
> Oh, and this chapter hopefully ends on a better note for everyone. Tension will still be there, but I don't anticipate putting anyone at death's door again in this story.
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

Porthos isn’t sure how he manages it because he still feels caught up in the sight of nurses surrounding Aramis, of Farmeth rushing in, of them all working to bring Aramis back all the while he stands helpless. Still, he finds himself back in the waiting room, bursting through the door with more force than is necessary. The noise brings everyone to their feet.

“What’s wrong,” Athos asks. He moves next to Porthos to try to calm him. “Porthos?” Athos tries again when he doesn’t respond. “What’s this?” He sees the bottle clutched in Porthos’ hand, a plastic glove held around it like a cloth. Athos tries to pull Porthos’ fingers away to get a better look and that’s when Porthos seems to wake, pulling his hand away.

“Aramis is dead,” he says blankly.

The reaction is a range of confusion and shock.

“How?” Treville asks.”

“His heart. They were working on him when I left. The tone. That was all I heard was the tone.”

Everyone save for Athos rushes out.

“He was dead, Athos,” Porthos says simply.

“But not gone,” Athos returns. “What’s this?”

“Later. Let’s go see what the news is. I really have to know.”

“Okay.” Athos puts a hand on his shoulder as they leave. Outside Aramis’ room, they find the others crowded. Inside, they’re still working but the piercing tone is gone. There are fewer nurses but Farmeth is still there. “Any word,” Athos asks.

“No, but I think he’s okay,” d’Artagnan says. “How’re you, Porthos? I know how it feels to be in there when it happens.”

“I’m okay. Worried about him, but okay.”

A few minutes later, Farmeth comes out to talk to them.

“We got him back, but I don’t know what’s going to happen. After this latest issue with his heart, he’s in critical condition. We’re going to monitor him closely, but his body can only take this for so much longer before it does give out. I’ll give you some time to talk and calm down, but we do need to discuss his future treatment.”

Porthos knows exactly what that means and quickly angers. He refuses to consider signing a DNR for Aramis.

“We wouldn’t be discussing his death if it weren’t for your nurses,” he says.

“I am not engaging in this conversation again. My nurses are more than qualified to give these patients the appropriate care.”

“I have evidence this time.” Porthos holds up the bottle in his hand. “Megan gave Aramis some of this and not long after that his heart stopped.”

“What is this?” Farmeth moves through the group as the others turn to look at Porthos, questioning what he’s holding. Porthos hands off the bottle, being careful to keep the glove around it. Farmeth doesn’t seem to object.

“I found Megan injecting Aramis with it, as I said. I snatched the bottle because no one would believe us when we said we were seeing the nurses tampering with his care.”

“Megan did this?” Treville looks at Porthos, who nods.

“This is Ganizin, a dangerous toxin. In low levels, it can cause depression and respiratory issues, but high levels it’s deadly. This might be the cause of his heart issues as well as the infection,” Farmeth says.

“The infection? How,” Treville asks as he turns back to the doctor.

“Well, it can mimic the symptoms of sepsis by starting to shut down organs. On some blood tests, it’ll appear as an infection but it might be what showed up on the earlier tests. The second round of blood tests will give us a definite answer.”

“Is there an antidote? A treatment,” Treville asks.

“No, unfortunately. If he survives, he’s likely to have some permanent damage. What that will be is hard to know, though. My best guess is his heart and lungs and possibly his kidneys as those seem to be the most affected right now.”

“None of that sounds good for a man in his line of work.”

“How much it will affect him and how his body compensates for said damage will be determined later. For now, I’m focusing on getting him through the next twelve hours. If he can make it through that without coding again, then he has a better chance. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on him.”

“What about Megan and the nurses,” Porthos asks.

“I will be personally supervising his treatment and, in lieu of the circumstances, I’ll allow you back in here full time. I won’t take Jess or any other nurses off duty until there’s proof of wrongdoing. As for Megan, I suggest calling the police as I doubt you guys are permitted to handle this. She’s off working on her rotations, but I’ll notify hospital security to come up and detain her.”

With that, Farmeth goes back in Aramis’ room, leaving Treville to handle a suddenly vocal group.

“He’s right,” Treville says loud enough to cut them off. “It’s a police matter, especially if we want her prosecuted. So, I’m going to put in a call to the police. The rest of you, back to the waiting room except for d’Artagnan.”

“Me?” The young man looks up with a bit of a deer in headlights expression.

“Yes, if you think you’re up to it, I’d like you to sit with Aramis until I get back.”

“Um, yeah.”

“The rest of you, if I hear of you going anywhere outside of the waiting room, you’re gone. Stay there and stay out of trouble. This is a police matter.”

They begrudgingly nod and walk back. d’Artagnan gets his courage up to go back into the room while Treville heads downstairs to find a place where he gets steady reception to call the police. He calls straight to the local police chief. Treville being the Musketeer Captain knew the surrounding police departments and regularly met with the police chiefs. The local one, in Libertyville, he was on good terms with having served with him in the Navy.

“What’s going on,” the chief asks, knowing that there are few reasons Treville would call in the middle of a workday, especially with one of his men in the hospital. Word of Aramis’ ICU stay had quickly gotten around, causing some distraction. He’d managed to keep everyone away from the ICU for the time being, but he didn’t know how long it would last. Aramis was mostly well liked by the officers.

“We’ve had a bit of a breakthrough with Aramis.”

“He’s improving?”

“No, unfortunately. He’s actually quite critical right now. The next twelve hours will determine everything. But we have found part of the reason he’s so sick. A nurse here, by the name of Megan Haines, was giving him a deadly toxin.”

“And you need us to start the investigation.”

“You know that we can’t do it. Hospital security is holding her and we do have the bottle that has her fingerprints on it. Porthos and Constance report that another nurse, Jess, was in on it too. But there’s nothing outside of their statements to corroborate that.”

“You seem doubtful. Porthos is one of the longest-serving Musketeers as well as a former police officer and Constance has shown the most promise of any candidate, or so that what you’ve bragged to me.”

“They’re exhausted and stressed. They don’t want to believe that their friend could die. I don’t blame them for wanting to see things, but you know that we can’t do anything without evidence.”

“I’ll still have to take their statements,” the chief says.

“I know, but I’m sure you understand why I didn’t believe them.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Jean. Given the circumstances and how close to Aramis that I know you are, I’m surprised that you remained so level-headed.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“But you did and that’s the important thing because this can go forward correctly now, and we’ll get justice for Aramis. Do you think that it was just at the hospital that he was targeted or were there other incidents?”

“No, no. Just at…” Treville trails off as he thinks.

“His other incidents?”

“I don’t know. It’d be so easy to say yes, but they are accidents. We never found evidence of anything malicious. But then I can’t believe that Megan tried to kill him. She’s seen so many Musketeers. She’s a favorite of theirs and has treated Aramis a number of times without causing him harm.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of it, Jean. I’ve sent out my best officers. They should be there within a few minutes. Right now, you take care of your family. And keep us updated. Let us know if you need anything. I have a meal train waiting to take effect whenever you need it.”

“We’ll probably need it soon. ‘Mis’ family is coming today and I have a feeling we’re all going to be spending more time at the hospital.”

“I’ll get in touch with Sarah then and work on setting things up,” the chief says.

Treville is grateful for his old friend’s support. He ends the call soon after to update Sarah. Just as he’s set to call her, she arrives with Aramis’ family and Porthos’ brother followed quickly by the police.

“Captain Treville,” Aramis’ mother calls out as she quickly approaches him, anger and worry clear in her expression. “Where is my son? How did this happen?”

“Mrs. d’Herbley, let me take you upstairs.”

“What are the police here for? Is he in trouble?”

“No, no. He’s really sick but he’s not in trouble. Someone tried to kill him. A nurse we trusted.”

“Kill him? Jean you said you were keeping him safe. What’s happened to my son?”

“We didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Treville feels terrible apologizing. “Let me take you up to see him. The doctor is wanting to meet with you once you get in.” As he guides them up to the ICU, he watches as the police enter. A couple of them go to the security office on the first floor while the other two take another elevator up. Fortunately, they arrive before the police, allowing Aramis’ family to go in without an extra audience. Treville walks in with them, gesturing to d’Artagnan to step outside. Aramis’ mother cries as the sight of the wires and tubes running from him to machines. She takes one of his hands in hers, running the other through his messy hair.

“What happened,” she asks after a moment, voice heavy with tears.

“It’s a bit of a list, but the most immediate is his heart. He had an irregular heartbeat and then he coded. They got him back, but the doctor is concerned about the next several hours. He’s personally overseeing his treatment though as we don’t know who else might be involved. I don’t want to take any more chances.”

“Any more chances? How did you let this happen to my son?”

“We didn’t know. I promise. We had no idea. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Please leave us, Captain. I want some time alone with my son.” Her voice is even but the anger is still clear.

“I’ll let the doctor know you’re here,” Treville says before leaving. Outside the room, he finds d’Artagnan waiting. “I’m going to go find Farmeth. You should go back to the waiting room. They want some time alone.”

“What happened?” d’Artagnan only heard snippets of the conversation but did see the facial expressions and body postures shift and change as the two talked.

“She’s upset.”

“Well, that’s understandable. Aramis is really sick.”

“It’s more. She blames me for missing the clues, for letting someone get close enough to kill him.”

“She can’t…”

Treville interrupts d’Artagnan to move them down the hall further.

“She can’t blame you. How could you know?”

“I know but you don’t understand the history between us. I looked after him once and I told her I would again. She wanted to see him, but I advised against it. I said I’d look after him, keep him safe. And I haven’t.”

“How could you know? How could any of us have known?”

“I beginning to think that I should’ve.”

“What are you talking about? Is this about the stalker? We never found anything, and we looked everywhere.”

“I know but I also know that Aramis is rarely wrong.”

“But the PTSD and depression and everything.”

“I don’t know, d’Artagnan. Let’s just call it a gut feeling that I made a horrible mistake.” With that, Treville walks away, going in search of Farmeth, leaving d’Artagnan standing in the hallway.

Treville stays in the waiting room after that. The others mostly stay there but do take their turns walking past Aramis’ room, poking their heads in but they don’t disturb his family. A few hours later, Maria walks into the waiting room. They all start, standing nearly at the same time.

“What’s happened,” Athos asks, a panic starting at her sudden appearance.

“Nothing. He’s still holding on. I just thought I’d come to see you all,” Maria says, voice gentle. “Mom’s pretty worked up, though me and Sonya have gotten her calmed down some. Doctor Farmeth came to talk with us. He wanted us to set up plans for if he doesn’t get better. Mom refused to.”

“Farmeth talked about that earlier. There should be some plan. Aramis wouldn’t want to linger.”

“I know and so does mom, but we couldn’t ask her to sign her son’s death papers. Me and Sonya made plans with Farmeth. But it won’t come to that because my brother is a fighter. He’s fought every shitty thing life has thrown his way and he’s… he’s going to fight this.” She’s fighting the tears she held back in the ICU room.

“Come here,” Constance says, stepping forward to embrace Maria, letting her work through her tears. After a moment, Maria takes a breath and steps back, thanking Constance quietly.

“Captain,” Maria says, turning to Treville, who’s stayed in the back. “Please don’t take mom’s anger personally. Sarah was keeping us updated, but this came as a surprise. Mom hasn’t slept since yesterday. She nearly collapsed when we found out he was doing so badly. And then we found out he was almost killed and the police, it’s all been quite a shock. Mom doesn’t blame you.”

“I wouldn’t blame her if she did. I made her a promise all those years ago. Her and your dad and I’ve done a terrible job living up to it.”

“You can’t help what happens to him when he’s out of your sight. And, he’s a grown man, Captain. He is responsible for the things he does. But, I understand. Me and my sisters have always been rather overprotective of him.”

“I think he manages to get most people to feel that way about him.”

“Mom always said it was his charm. Even as a toddler he could charm someone into loving him with just that smile.” Maria pauses. “He’s safe though isn’t he? I mean I know that he’s still really sick and weak but he’s safe. No one else is going to hurt him?”

“His treatment has been limited to those we can trust, which right now is Farmeth. And one of us is with him at all times,” Treville says. “I will make sure that this time, no one can harm him.”

“Okay.” Maria lets out a calming breath. “I trust you. Of everyone, I trust you to keep him safe.” She pauses for a moment, considering what to do next. The last few hours have drained her emotionally, not to mention she’s exhausted. “Mom needs a break. She’s going to want to stay with Aramis until he wakes, but she can’t. She’s physically and emotionally exhausted.”

“We have a room at the hotel across the street,” Sarah says. “It hasn’t been slept in in a day or so, but you’re welcome to use it. You wouldn’t be far if something happens.”

“Are you sure? You all must need some rest too.” Maria looks at the exhausted faces around her.

“We can sleep in here if needed. But you, your mom, and Sonya should get some rest,” Porthos says. “It’s comfortable and we’ll keep you updated.”

“Okay.” Maria nods. “I’ll go get mom and Sonya. It’ll take some convincing.”

“I’ll come sit with him,” Constance says. “That way your mom knows that someone will be with him. Maybe she can rest easier then.”

“Thank you. All of you. Thank you for looking out for him. I know that when this isn’t so fresh and scary, when the emotions are in the past mom will feel different.”

“It’s her son,” Sarah says. “If one of my kids were in the same position I’d feel the same way.”

It takes some convincing and Aramis’ mother isn’t happy to see Constance, but she does concede that she needs some rest. She negotiates a two-hour nap and then they’ll be back. She raised five kids while their father worked long days in the factory, she argues. She can certainly survive on a couple hours of sleep to make sure that her son is properly taken care of.

Aramis, outside of one more minor scare with his heart, holds his own during the day, much to their relief. His mother, Susana, and his sisters come back. Susana doesn’t leave Aramis’ bedside. Farmeth comes and goes. Sarah, Constance, and the Inseparables make short visits, finding Susana a little more agreeable to their presence each time, though she still doesn’t speak with them. Treville stays in the waiting room. And the police, they are in and out, taking evidence and pictures, taking statements. Jess and a third nurse are arrested before the day is over. With the mounting evidence, they’re able to quickly secure warrants to search the nurses’ homes.

Despite his numerous calls, the chief gives Treville little information, telling him that they’ll know more tomorrow. Athos threatens to take his phone at one point. He’s lost sitting there. The others have tried to encourage him to stop by the room, just to look for himself at how Aramis is doing but he doesn’t want to upset Susana. Maria and Sonya have even tried but he’s refused still. The one thing that brings him back, however, is an update from Farmeth. Aramis’ sisters have apparently refused to go forward with the update without him present. So, shortly after seven, he finds himself in Aramis’ room with the others.

“The blood tests are not surprising given the earlier findings. He has high levels of Ganizin in his body. That is directly responsible for the heart issues,” Farmeth says.

“What about the sepsis,” Athos asks.

“While there is some organ damage, the sepsis was mimicked by the toxin.”

“The infection, too?”

“Yeah.”

“How could a single toxin cause all of that,” Susana asks.

“It’s more of a designer drug. Not created for him, but in a lab almost a decade ago.”

“Why? Why would someone create something like this?”

“In this case, it was designed to be a better treatment for sepsis, ironically. Particularly for organ failure. It failed, and it was supposed to be either destroyed or safely stored. But somehow Megan got a hold of it. There are some other drugs in his system. A cocktail that is not as harmful, so I’ve opted to keep him on it for now.”

“What?” the others exclaim in a variety of tones, but in near unison.

“I know how it sounds, but I’m more interested in keeping him stable, like he is now than stepping him down from drugs. I’ve had the drugs that he has been on tested, his prescriptions the police brought in and it looks like he’s been on these for months. They’re powerful drugs, some at high doses. I can’t take him off of those without putting him in further danger. It’s a step-down process and he has to be healthy for that.”

“Prescriptions? His psychologist prescribed him an antidepressant and anti-anxiety pill,” Porthos says.

“Yes, I found those, but they weren’t what was prescribed. There is some component of the listed drug in the pills, but they’re mostly drugs that are known to cause a worsening of depression, paranoia, anxiety. Pretty much everything he was dealing with when he started these prescriptions, he’s been taken medication that’s made it worse. And everything had low levels of the toxin in it. The pharmacy and his psychologist are being investigated. Someone deliberately poisoned him and put him in this position. I can’t say exactly what happened or how, but it looks very calculated.”

“What did we do, Captain,” Porthos asks, looking at Treville.

“She was recommended. She passed the checks,” d’Artagnan says. “We did everything.”

“It might not have been here,” Farmeth says. “It could’ve been in the pharmacy. What is clear, is that it’s going to take some time to figure out who all is involved, but, for now, he’s safe. He’s being watched over. I know he’s not made any improvement today, but that he hasn’t worsened is a positive. The toxin is working out of his system so the immediate effects will be decreased.”

“Outside of the heart, what are the immediate effects,” Maria asks.

“His organs are of primary concern. The kidneys were affected by the low doses, but I’m hoping that it’s not permanent. Test subjects had kidney issues as well, but it wasn’t always permanent. Temporary impairment tended to happen more with long-term low doses. His lungs are a similar case. We’ll have to see with much of it, though, unfortunately. What you all need to remember is that his recovery will be a marathon. There’s nothing that will be quick. I won’t even consider bringing him out of sedation until the pneumonia is mostly cleared up and I’m confident he’s strong enough to handle working to breathe. That is very likely a week off, on the best-case scenario.”

“So, you’re saying that we need to go home,” Constance hazards a guess.

“Not everyone, but yes and you need to ease the tension between you. Aramis may be sedated now but as he improves, he will sense that, and it is likely to impact his recovery.”

“But he will recover,” Susana asks.

“I am more confident than I was this morning that he will. I don’t want to tell you I’m one hundred percent sure, but his odds are improving. So, you all need to take care of yourselves so that when he’s ready, you can help take care of him. Okay?”

They agree, somewhat reluctantly.

“Now, I won’t be in tonight. I’ve already been on for almost twelve hours, but I’ve asked Frice, his regular doctor, to step in. I’ve updated him on the situation and I’m confident he’ll be able to look after him. I’ll still be in the hospital for emergencies, but Frice will be in charge of overseeing his care.”

Unsurprisingly, there are no objections, which means that Farmeth can finish his rounds before he meets with Frice to discuss the patients. It leaves the rest of them standing awkwardly as they try to figure out what to do now.

“Captain,” Susana says, “I think we need to talk. Maria, Sonya, if you two will watch Aramis while we go.”

“Of course,” Maria says.

“Good. Now, let’s go downstairs, Jean, and get some fresh air. We can talk better down there. The rest of you, go rest in the waiting room. I know that it doesn’t matter what the doctor said, none of us are going anywhere until we know he’s going to make it. Keep us updated while we’re gone.”

Silently, Treville follows Susana into the elevator. While he’s happy they’re going to finally talk, he can’t help but be nervous about the outcome. He knows himself the strength of a parental bond and what a parent will do to protect their child. And with all of the revelations from Farmeth, he has to wonder what Susana will say.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treville and Susana have their conversation and then there's more to be revealed about Megan's scheme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

Treville and Susana stop once they reach the garden in the back of the hospital. The trees are starting to bud and there’s a hint of flowers sprouting, but the deadness of winter is still ever present.  

“How did this happen, Jean,” Susana asks as she turns to face him, arms crossed over her chest.

“I don’t know,” Treville says, shrugging his shoulders. “We were watching him, looking after him, getting him help but I guess it wasn’t enough. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? That’s my child up there dying.” Her anger breaks into a sob.

“I know. I don’t know what more to say. We failed him.”

The two are silent for a moment before Susana speaks, working to hide her sadness. “I don’t care for what the doctor said about us working things out because I am angry and I’m not going to get over it.” She sees Treville pale and hears the heavy swallow. “But I’m not angry with you. I want to be but I know you did what you could. You and the others they did what they could. Aramis has my family’s stubbornness.”

“He is quite stubborn, but I don’t blame you for being angry with me, for wanting to be. Somewhere along the last several months, we missed something. That much is clear with what little the police have discovered.”

“You told us about the nurses. What else?”

“His psychiatrist, maybe a pharmacist. I don’t know. The people we sent him to for help are the ones who hurt him.”

“This will take him time to get through but I know that your family and his Musketeer friends have been far better friends than those bastards in the Navy. I thought he was joining a brotherhood there and they all betrayed him when the going got tough.”

“I’m not sure I can agree with you on us being good to him. He turned away from us these last couple months and the picture I’m getting from what the others aren’t saying is that they tended to ignore him. They made sure he was okay, had food and water and got to his appointments but when he cut himself off, they didn’t fight much. I think it was hard on them all being in the house and at a loss of what to do to help him further.”

“As I said before, my son is stubborn,” Susana says. “This is the first time in five years that I’ve seen him all because he had a flashback and thought he hurt Olivia. He never did stay long enough to find out that she’d tripped down the stairs on her own because she refused to tie her shoelaces and was trying to get him help. She knew even then as a young child not to interfere with his flashbacks.”

“Impulsive and stubborn, I think those were the most common complaints I heard about him from his professors.” Treville manages a smile at the memories of frustrated professors talking to him about Aramis in their classes. Because Aramis was a cadet on the command track, Treville often spoke to his professors to gauge his performance in class and fitness for leadership.

“He’s going to be fine, Jean.” Susana pulls herself upright. “I know that sounds like wishful thinking as bad as he is, but he’s going to be fine.”

“I know. I just worry about what he’s going to do afterward. He doesn’t give second chances when it comes to trust and I don’t know where else he’ll go.”

“One bridge at a time, Jean. First, let’s get him healthy enough to tell us that he doesn’t trust anyone, then we’ll get it through his thick skull that the best place for him is here.”

“Are you sure about that?’

“I can’t think of where else he would go. I…” Simultaneous phone rings prevent Susana from finishing her sentence. They both check their phones. “It’s Maria,” Susana says, feeling her stomach drop at the thought of what her daughter could be calling for.

“Let me know. I have to take this call,” Treville says, pressing the answer button. “Richelieu, what can I do for you?” He tries to sound as welcoming as he can, but the man’s persistence in checking on Aramis and pushing for his removal from the task force has him quickly irritated. Right now isn’t the moment he wants to be speaking with him, but he doesn’t have a choice if he still wants to try to salvage Aramis’ job.

“I heard you’ve called out the local police to investigate something regarding your boy,” Richelieu says. Treville can hear the irritation as he sees Susana give him a thumbs up and head back upstairs.

“Yes, my team found evidence that someone was trying to kill him and then blood tests confirmed the poison. I haven’t gotten a recent update, but I believe they’re also investigating his psychologist and the pharmacy where he got his prescriptions filled.”

“And I’m sure you expect that this will absolve him of the charges?”

“Not at all, sir. I’m simply trying to figure out what’s been going on. So far, the most we have is that it could’ve gone back to December when he started seeing Dr. Morel,” Treville says.

“As long as we’re clear that Aramis, should he survive, still has to stand trial.”

“Of course. Anything else, sir?”

“Keep me updated on the case. I don’t like hearing about this as gossip.”

“I’ll let you know as much as I know. Now, if you don’t mind, something’s happened with Aramis and I’d like to go up to find out what.”

“Yes, yes, go see to your boy.” Treville visualizes the dismissive wave Richelieu gives. The phone doesn’t even go dark before it rings again and Treville sighs. He doesn’t know exactly what to make of the thumbs up and smile that Susana gave, but he guesses that it’s good news and he’d really like even a few minutes to go up to find out what the news is. This call is from the local police chief, probably with an update on the case.

“How’s he doing,” the chief asks after they exchange greetings.

“Holding his own. He’s not gotten any worse, which is good. His mom rushed upstairs when I was on the phone with Richelieu after getting some good news, I think.”

“I had hoped that Richelieu would leave you alone if I called to update him.”

“He has it out for the Musketeers,” Treville says. “I think he’s trying to use Aramis as a reason for ending the task force or giving us a bad mark at the very least.”

“Well, if that’s what he’s hoping for, I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

“You’ve found out more?”

“We’ve done a thorough search of Megan Haines’ house and found a number of documents that demonstrate how she planned everything.”

“Everything?”

“All the way back to his relationship with Anne.”

“The Anne he spent a year with and planned to marry?”

“Yes. She didn’t set them up but did orchestrate the break up of their relationship by alerting her estranged husband to a potential affair.”

“And what about everything else,” Treville asks.

“I don’t know exactly what’s happened to him over the last six months, especially with the incidents you’ve said he blamed on a stalker, but there’s notes here for a purse snatcher, a distracted driver, and some other things. There’s also receipts for payments to a few different PIs and other people. Those might have been the stalkers she hired.”

“Shit. He was right. We could’ve prevented this.”

“I don’t know about that, Jean. This is all quite an elaborate plan. There’s more than the few accomplices we’ve picked up. There have to be to put in place such a plan.”

“Few accomplices? You’ve gotten more than the nurses?”

“Yes, the notes implicated the psychiatrist, Leslie Morel. Both are being questioned and we’re searching Morel’s place.”

“How did we miss this? We looked. I know we looked. Each one of us.”

“This wasn’t your run of the mill stalker case, Jean. This was highly skilled and took some serious tactical skill. Our biggest concern at the moment is the motive. Once we get that, we’ll probably be able to round up the rest of the accomplices.”

“Still no motive?”

“She has highly encrypted computer records, Captain. It’s taking our tech boy some time to sort it out.”

“I’d give you Athos to help if I could. He’s a wizard at those encryptions.”

“We’ll get it. I have someone who’s pretty good, too. And hopefully in there is the motive.”

“Alright. Thanks for everything.”

“No problem, Jean.”

“Keep me updated, okay.”

“Likewise. Now, go see how Aramis is doing.”

Treville is quick to end the call, hoping that now the phone will stay silent long enough for him to go up. Not only does he want to find out about Aramis, but he also has news to give the others, news which he hopes doesn’t completely set things off. d’Artagnan meets him at the elevator, smiling.

“I was just coming to get you,” the younger man says.

“I’ve been caught up with phone calls. What’s going on? You look happy about something.”

“His fever dropped!”

“You mean it broke?”

“No, it dropped a half a degree. Farmeth says that it’s good news even though it hasn’t broken yet.”

“Yeah, it is. Sorry, I’d just hoped for better I guess.”

“I think we all are, but this is something.”

“Of course, of course. Some improvement is better than none. Where is everyone?”

“Susana and her daughters are in with Aramis. Everyone else has just been giving them space. We weren’t sure how things were going with us and his family.”

“Better than I thought. I have some news of my own though.” They start walking to the waiting room.

“Did you want me to get Susana,” d’Artagnan asks.

“No, not right now. She’s got enough going on. I’ll tell her later.”

Porthos and the others are glad to see Treville and share the news that d’Artagnan told him. It’s the first time in several days that he’s seen them all smiling, except for Athos. He’ll have to talk with the man later but for now, he shares what he’s found out, ignoring their comments and growls of irritation.

“You mean Anne was involved, too,” Porthos growls.

“No, Anne wasn’t involved, but a victim here, too. Megan made some threats if she told Aramis about her husband and then even more so that she would be forced to go back to her husband and leave Aramis.” Treville pauses. “Look, there’s a lot that is still being pieced together. We’ll know more in the coming days.”

“So, all of those times he said he was being stalked…” Athos trails off, tone empty.

“He knew exactly what he was seeing. There’s no point in beating ourselves up over it now. Our concern is getting him healthy. Once he’s able to fight back, we’ll deal with all of this.”

“You found out more,” Susana asks from the doorway.

“Yes, I was going to let you know once you’d had a chance to sit with Aramis more. There’s no danger to him at the moment from any of it, so I thought I’d wait.” Treville can’t hide the nervousness he feels.

“Understandable. It sounds like there’s some big news, though?”

Treville nods and tells her what he’d just explained to the others. She’s shaken by the news but quickly pushes that to the side.

“Yes, as I said earlier and you just said, there are more important things to deal with now. Aramis needs you, all of you even if he’s unconscious now and, when he’s awake, he will fight all of you, but he needs you. You should come sit with him for a while with us. Not all at once, of course. It’s a bit crowded, but perhaps one at a time. Maria and Sonya need a break, so there’ll be room.”

“With respect, you need a break, too,” Porthos says.

“Yes, but I need time with my son. But I also need the company.”

With the tension eased between them, the Inseparables, Constance, and Treville start sitting with Susana in the room. Sarah and Susana convince Sonya and Maria to sleep in the hotel room for a bit while Porthos, d’Artagnan, and Constance go get some food for them. Treville and Sarah leave to take care of their own family with plans to come back later in the day.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Susana says to Athos, who sits next to her in the ICU room. He’s let her take the spot closest to Aramis even though he wants to be close enough to hold his hand, to reassure himself that Aramis is still alive. The beeping of the EKG will have to be enough.

“It’s my nature,” Athos says.

“Mhmm.” She’s silent for a moment. “You seemed particularly bothered by the news about the stalker.”

“Aramis is our friend, our brother and we didn’t believe him. Of course, I’m bothered by it.”

“You’re also the team leader.”

Athos nods.

“You must’ve made some tough decisions then about my son.”

“I’m sorry,” Athos says.

“You did what you could with the knowledge you had and I’m sure you did it to protect him.”

“Always. Even when we knew he’d hate it, we made the decisions that would keep him safe. Unfortunately, it was that that divided us.”

“Not permanently.”

“I know what you’re going to say, but I have to beg to differ on this one. You know your son better than I do, so you must know that he won’t give us a second chance, not after this big of a screw-up,” Athos says.

“Yes, I know my son well, but also know that the bond he has with the three of you is stronger than you think. It’s not going to be easy, but you will get him back. Right now, however, my bigger concern is you.”

“Me?” Athos sits up, looking at Susana cautiously. “I’m fine, just tired and worried.”

“You don’t try to hide it from me, Athos. My son always tried that and it never worked. Not when he was a little kid coming home from a bad day at school, having been teased for speaking Spanish, or a teenager so upset over his girlfriend making life-altering decisions behind his back that he tries to enlist. You don’t have to talk with me about any of it, but you can.”

For a while, the room is quiet except for the beeping of the EKG and hissing of the ventilator. Athos considers Susana’s offer. Aramis has talked a lot about his mother, reminiscing about their conversations as they worked in the kitchen. It wasn’t always about deep topics like depression, but he knows that she’s supportive of Aramis and understanding of his struggles. A few years ago, they’d tried to reconnect Aramis and his family, but Aramis had started down a path of depression and anxiety bad enough that they immediately canceled any plans. It wasn’t until today that he found out the real story of what happened, knowing that Aramis’ story was not accurate. As much as he’d talked with Aramis, assured him that what happened with his family and Olivia probably wasn’t as bad as he thought, he couldn’t get him to understand. He misses their conversations. They haven’t had them in months it seems and he feels it’s all his fault.

“I’m worried,” he says finally. She’s quiet as she waits for him to speak again. Sarah has told her about the friends Aramis made and she feels that she knows each of them to some degree. Athos is a thinker, quiet and contemplative. Sarah’s told her that Athos and Aramis have a close bond, connecting with their understanding of each other’s mental health struggles. She’s glad for that connection because Aramis hadn’t had anyone who really understood.

“While Aramis may get better and even if he sticks around, things are broken between us. And there’s the selfish part of all of this. I don’t care as much about his friendship with the others as I do about his with me. Porthos and me are good friends, longtime friends, but Aramis is the first person since my brother to understand me and accept my moods without question or frustration. He pulled away so much from us in the last several weeks and I was the one who made all of the decisions that ignored what was really happening and put him in this position. So, it’s really all my fault here because if I had thought more clearly and looked into everything better, then I wouldn’t have made those decisions that put him here.” Athos doesn’t pause for a breath.

“Stop right there,” Susana interrupts. “No one but that nurse and her accomplices put him in this position. You all were reacting to what you knew.”

“I know that, but I know Aramis and I know how he reacts. Porthos, d’Artagnan, they do their best, but Aramis has always been the one who understood. And I was the one who spearheaded the changes, his leave.”

“Oh, yes, I know Aramis. He’s not the sort that gives second chances. He got that one from his dad,” she says. “But I also know that he’s got real friends in the three of you and, as stubborn as my boy can be, he will come to see that. He’ll come to realize what you all did to help him. It’s going to be rough for all of you until he comes to that point but he will. And, as for you, you need to stop beating yourself up over your decisions. You didn’t make them out of anger, did you?”

“No.”

“Recklessness? Spite? Irritation?”

“There might’ve been some irritation there, but generally no. We… I thought it was for the best to protect him. His job is on the line. Even if he wants to come back, he may not be able to. I should’ve done something sooner but I kept fighting with Treville about it, arguing that we could get him through this rough patch. I ignored the whole stalker thing and it turns out that was real.”

“You looked into it, didn’t you?”

“We all did, repeatedly but nothing turned up.”

“Then, you’ve done what you could. Did you make some mistakes? Sure, but we all do. We’re human and no one faults you for wanting to stick by your friend for a bit longer and give him the benefit of the doubt. I’m happy to know that he’s got such loyal friends.”

“We were blind to a lot though,” Athos says.

“Not willfully. And you’re here now and I’m sure that none of you have even been back home in days.”

“We can’t get ourselves to leave. Just when we thought he was stabilizing, he’d take another turn for the worse.”

“Well, he’s doing better now. It’s slow and small, but it’s a good thing. And you need to take more time for yourself. I’ve read up on mental disorders and such after Aramis’ diagnosis. Rest, relaxation, and walking are all good to help combat depression.”

“Are you telling me to take a hike?”

“Not at all,” she says, picking up easily on his joking. “But you need to get out of here at some point to take care of yourself. Aramis has lots of people to sit with him and look after him, take some time to look after yourself so you can be here for him.”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s all that I ask. Though if you don’t take a break by the end of the day, I might get the others to help me force you out of here for a bit.”

Athos chuckles. “Okay. I’ll take a break later. Just give me some time to work myself up to it.”


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis wakes finally but it brings new challenges and hard decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, the medical stuff is probably not accurate. 
> 
> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.

They settle into a routine over the next several days. Someone always stays with Aramis and someone in the waiting room, while the others go out to get a break. As he starts showing more improvement, such as his fever breaking and an improvement in the blood tests, they manage to tear themselves away from sleeping at the hotel. The Inseparables welcome Aramis’ family into their home and Sarah and her friends arrange for food to be brought by.  

As Aramis continues to slowly improve, the investigation continues as well. Megan and Leslie are found to be half-sisters but their motivation remains a mystery. Treville and the Inseparables also start to go back to work, having run out of personal days and Richelieu’s patience.

Two weeks after being put in a medically induced coma, with the sedatives lessening, Aramis finally wakes, so briefly they barely see the opening of his eyes but it feels like such a momentous occasion that no one can stop smiling for hours and Susana cries. Other than the Ganizin, which was too dangerous to do a safe step down, Farmeth is still reluctant to wean him off the drugs Leslie had him on, fearing that the strain it would put on his body would be too much. It’s also why he’s still on a ventilator and NG tube.

“The steady improvement is a good sign,” Farmeth tells them. He’s called a brief meeting about Aramis with Treville, Susana, Athos, and Porthos. “Blood tests are showing lower levels of Ganizin, but it’s really going to take a few months for it all to leave his system.”

“Months,” Athos asks.

“He’d been taking it for a couple months and then for about a week in very high doses. It’s simply going to take time and there’s little that we can do.”

“Is it causing damage,” Treville asks.

“Unfortunately, yes, there still is some damage being done. But it’s not as severe. The damage that’s done now is rather mild and he will recover from. It’s the doses from a couple weeks ago that stopped his heart that are the most damaging and we won’t fully know the effects for a month probably.”

“A month? Why?”

“We’ve still got to get him off the other drugs that he’s on, which I expect to start in about a week. I’d like to see him more conscious and fighting the ventilator before I start weaning him off those.”

“What sort of damage might he have from the poison,” Susana asks.

“Heart problems are my first concern considering that was the organ so harshly hit. The kidneys and liver are also a concern because they process drugs. Dialysis or surgery might be needed. His lungs are also a concern.”

Susana stumbles back. Porthos and Athos are quick to catch her, supporting her on either side as she takes a few breaths to steady herself.

“I don’t say all of this to cause you to worry but so that you know the worst case scenario,” Farmeth says.

“And that is,” Treville asks.

“Organ failure, which I don’t think is likely in his case. We’d be seeing signs of it already,” he adds quickly. “More likely, he’ll need some physical therapy, possibly medication.”

“Will he be able to go back to work,” Porthos asks, some worry at the edge of his voice.

“I think so. I can’t make any guarantees and a lot of it will depend on him.”

“I don’t think he’ll want to give up being a Musketeer.”

“But will he want to work with us,” Athos asks quietly.

“He will,” Susana says, looking straight at Athos. “When will Aramis start to wake more?”

“I expect over the next couple days he should be waking up more. The heavy doses of sedatives are out of his system, so it’ll be up to his body when he’s ready to start waking. He’ll be staying here in the ICU for the time being, especially as we start weaning him off the drugs. As he does start to become more alert, the concern is keeping him calm. If he can’t stay calm, then we’ll have to lightly sedate him so he doesn’t fight the ventilator before we take it out.”

“And that will be?”

“When I’m confident his lungs are strong enough. By the end of the week, hopefully.”

“So, we need to get him through about five days of having the machine breathing for him,” Treville says.

“It’s a challenge to be sure, but I don’t want to put him through the stress of taking it out too soon and then having to put it back in.”

“Understandable. I think we’re all just wondering how we’re going to keep him calm enough. He does have a tendency to panic in situations like these.”

“It’s normal for some panic in these cases. Waking up to something strange in your throat and breathing for you is unnerving. Sedating him is an option, but I’d prefer to keep that as a last resort. He needs to work on staying calm,” Farmeth says.

“We’ll do it,” Porthos says. “We’ll sit with him and keep him calm.”

A couple days later, when Porthos is sitting with him in the early morning, Aramis wakes for more than a brief second. He’s not yet alert and looks around with a cloudy look in his eyes.

“Hey, ‘Mis,” Porthos says just loud enough to be heard. He takes the man’s hand in his to reassure him that he’s safe, squeezing it gently. Aramis looks at him but doesn’t seem to see him before he falls back asleep. It’s not much but it makes Porthos smile so wide his cheeks hurt. He stays there, just in case Aramis wakes again and holds onto his hand, sending a flurry of texts with one hand to the others.

After that, Aramis starts to show more awareness as he continues to wake and that means more trouble for them as he becomes more agitated.

“No, Aramis,” Athos says, standing next to Aramis. He tries to keep his voice calm, but this is the fifth time Aramis has woken since he’s been sitting with him and each time he’s fought the ventilator. Athos wishes that Farmeth would just take it out because Aramis has fought it for the last couple days but the doctor seems overly cautious. Maybe tomorrow, he thinks as he grabs Aramis’ hand that goes for his mouth to deal with the irritation. They explain it to him each time he wakes, but it doesn’t seem to help him remember the next time why there’s something down his throat. Athos hasn’t bothered to explain the last couple times because it’s a waste of time.

“Aramis, you need to calm down. You’re safe. Just stop trying to pull it out and relax.” Athos is exhausted and doesn’t have the energy to deal with this, so he opts to push the call button for the nurses. Individually, they’re spending less time at the hospital, but between work and his worsening insomnia, he’s getting less rest.

“What can I do,” Ben, one of the nurses, asks when he enters the room, stopping on the other side of the bed.

“I can’t get him to calm down with this ventilator. Is there anything that you can do? He’s woken five times since I’ve been here and each time he’s just as agitated. See?” Athos reaches over Aramis to grab the man’s other arm. There’s little strength in the movements, but the persistence is enough for Athos’ frazzled nerves.

“Farmeth has authorized a light sedative. According to the chart, he’s been restless off and on today but not showing any clear signs of awareness,” Ben says, checking Aramis’ chart on his tablet. He pulls a vial and syringe from his pocket, quickly giving Aramis an injection of a sedative. It’s not enough to fully knock him out, but it should calm him enough that he can rest and on his weakened body, it takes effect quickly.

“The… um… lack of awareness, is that common,” Athos asks, letting go slowly of Aramis’ hands. He sets them down gently on Aramis’ sides. It’s strange to see him go compliant so quickly, but that he’s not fighting the ventilator is enough for Athos at the moment.

“Is it a result of the heart troubles and poisoning, you mean?”

“Yeah. Farmeth didn’t say that it was but he did expect Aramis to have to lasting impacts from it.”

“I won’t say that it’s impossible. Any time we have to bring someone back there’s the potential for brain damage, but it’s more likely some of the drugs that he’s on. It might also be the lingering effects of the illness.”

“The drugs? But he wasn’t having any problems before.”

“It’s really hard to know. I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but he’s been through a lot. Some confusion is expected. Farmeth isn’t concerned, but I will make a note of your concern and have him look into it.”

Athos nods, thanking Ben. Once he leaves, Athos goes back to sitting beside Aramis, holding onto one of his hands. Aramis has yet to fall back asleep, laying there with his eyes at half-mast, a blank look in his eyes.

“You’re fine, ‘Mis. I’m sorry I had to do it, but it was for the best,” Athos says. “I’m sorry, but you couldn’t go on fighting. You weren’t going to heal.” He keeps reassuring Aramis until the man finally falls asleep, feeling increasingly guilty the longer it takes for him to drop off.

Aramis is kept lightly sedated until the weekend when Farmeth takes him off of the ventilator. For Constance, who’s taking her turn sitting with Aramis, the room is strangely silent and she had to remind herself a handful of times that everything is alright. When Aramis wakes, it’s with little fanfare and Constance isn’t even aware until she glances up from her book and sees him looking at her, confusion and exhaustion clear in his eyes.

“Aramis,” Constance says. She sees him trying to speak but can’t hear him under the oxygen mask, so she stands to take the mask off and gets a few ice chips on a spoon to help his dry throat. He takes them easily.

“What’s ‘oing on?” Aramis’ voice is weak. She keeps the mask off for the moment, so they can talk.

“You’re in the ICU.”

“…long?”

“A few weeks almost.”

“Oh.” Aramis rolls his head back, looking up at the ceiling.

“How’re you feeling?”

Aramis doesn’t speak for a bit, then turns his head back to look at her directly.

“Tired. Weak. Sore,” he says, trying to take a deep breath. It quickly ends in a coughing fit and Constance puts the mask back on him. She holds his hand and talks him through the fit. When he’s done, he’s breathing is shallow and hesitant and his skin is lined with sweat.

“You should probably keep that on. You’ve been on a ventilator for a couple weeks and your lungs aren’t quite up to full strength,” Constance says. “You should try to sleep some more. I’ll be here for a bit longer, then I think it’s d’Artagnan’s turn. Don’t worry, you won’t be alone. You haven’t been. You can get some rest.”

“No, no.” Aramis’ voice is muffled by the mask as he shakes his head lightly. “’lone.”

“No, we’ve been here. Always someone was here.”

“No, no. ‘ghani’an. ‘abel. Streets. Always ‘lone.” Aramis grows agitated as he speaks.

“Aramis, you need to calm down. Okay?” She waits a moment, holding his hand reassuringly as she tries to get him to settle down. “You’ve been really sick. We’ve been here but you probably don’t remember because you’ve been so sick. They’re going to want to sedate you if you can’t get yourself calmer. Steady breathes, Aramis. Don’t think about anything but the here and now. I’m here, okay.”

“Stay?”

“Yes, I’ll stay here. Right here.” She grabs the stool from the corner, raising it up so that she’s at his level. Being able to clearly see her, without straining seems to calm him even more. “Now, you relax because I’ve got some stories to you about my brothers. You’ve missed a lot. Paul finally got Drew and Alex good. He was so happy. Mom wasn’t, sort of but dad was proud of him. If you ask me, though, dad had a hand in the whole mess.” She keeps talking, telling about her brothers’ antics as Aramis drifts off to sleep.

She’s still sitting with him when d’Artagnan comes a couple hours later.

“You might want to be sure to sit within his eyesight and hold his hand,” Constance tells him as she packs up her bag. She didn’t get much more done, not wanting to disturb Aramis’ rest by reaching for her work. She’s concerned that he thought he was alone the whole time and seemed worried that she’d leave.

“Okay. Something happen?”

“He woke up and thought he’d been alone all this time. And he thought I was going to leave. I think he’ll be calmer if he knows that we’re here.”

“And that’ll help him to heal quicker,” d’Artagnan adds. “Anything else I should know?”

She lets him know about the breathing and then leaves him to sit with Aramis. The rotation continues throughout the weekend and the following week. As the days pass, Aramis begins to wake more, which is some comfort to them, but he’s stricken with small anxiety attacks if he can’t see them or feel their presence and the sight of his mother sends him into a full-blown anxiety attack that they can’t calm him down from. While the nurses sedate him so he doesn’t cause further damage to himself, Sarah takes Susana into the hallway to try to calm her down. It’s several minutes of holding the distraught woman as she cries until she’s calm enough for Sarah to try to talk with her.

“It was just a shock, Susana. We’ve told him you were here, but he must not have remembered,” Sarah says, still hugging her.

“My own son, scared of me.” Susana cries a little heavier.

“Startled, that’s it.”

“He couldn’t calm down, Sarah. I sent him into an anxiety attack.” Susana takes a step back, breaking Sarah’s embrace.

“He hasn’t seen you in years, he wasn’t expecting to see you. I’m sure it was more his fear of your reaction about events years ago than anything else.”

“Doesn’t he know that I don’t care about what happened? I just want my son back. I want all of my kids back in my life.”

“He knows that, at least part of him does. Unfortunately, that part isn’t in the forefront at the moment. But he does know.”

“He’s doing fine now,” Farmeth says, walking out of the room to talk with them. “He’s sedated for now, but I’m not going to keep him sedated.”

“I’m sorry,” Susana says, worry in her voice. “I didn’t think he’d react like that and then he couldn’t calm down.”

“It’s okay. He didn’t cause himself any harm. With his lingering confusion, it’s expected.”

“Should I stay away?”

“No, but every time he wakes, I want him reminded that you and his sisters are here. The more he’s told, the better chances we have of him remembering.”

“That confusion, the memory loss. Should we be concerned,” Sarah asks.

“It’s more likely a result of the short bouts of waking he’s doing and his lingering exhaustion. When I’ve spoken with him, he’s coherent but confused. Once he can stay awake longer, he’ll remember more. Time is a confusing jumble for him with him waking for a few minutes at a time and dozing mid-conversation.”

“And when do you think that’ll happen?”

“Soon, especially once he’s weaned off the various psychoactive drugs he’d been taking. There’s going to be more confusion during that detox process, but once they’re out of his system, he’s more likely to see things clearly and stay awake longer.”

“When will you start taking him off the drugs,” Susana asks.

“Monday. We’ll start then, once he’s had a chance to recover from this shock about you being here. He’ll stay here for the detox so he can be better monitored. It’s going to be hell on his body, especially with his weakened state right now.”

“He can’t stay on the drugs until he’s stronger, more able to handle the process?”

“They’re messing with his body and his mind. They’re part of the reason for his paranoia and depression. The longer he stays on them, the harder this recovery will be for him. I’m going to do my best to make it a steady drop down in dosages but he’s still going to feel some effects.”

“I understand that. But it’s hard to know that he’s going to be put through even more,” Susana says.

“He’s getting the best care here. We’ll do our best to make it as painless of a detox as possible. Now, I really should finish rounds, but I’ll be happy to answer any more questions you have when I come to check on him later today.”

For the rest of the weekend, Susana is scarce, moving out of Aramis’ line of sight when he starts to wake. He doesn’t remember the earlier anxiety attack nor that Susana was there and no one reminds him other than to tell him that she is there. When he’s told, he doesn’t panic like before, but he does become concerned and confused. They’re able to calm him though without sedation.

Monday morning sees Farmeth in the room talking with Treville, Athos, and Aramis, although Aramis isn’t quite following what’s going on.

“But I’m supposed to be on those drugs,” Aramis says quietly. He’s been sleeping most of the days it seems and he’s still exhausted. Following the conversation and speaking are almost too much for him to bear.

“No, you’re not. Not all of them at least,” Athos says, repeating what they’ve told him a few times already. They haven’t told him everything that’s happened though. He knows he’s been sick but the rest of it they’ve kept from him.

“Do you trust us,” Treville asks.

“Um… yeah, I guess,” Aramis says.

“Then can you trust that we’re doing what’s best for you?”

“Sure.”

“Go ahead with the lower doses them, doctor.”

“What’s going to happen,” Aramis asks.

“Every week, we’ll lower your doses until you’re free of them. As that’s happening, because this will be a more aggressive stepdown than you’d have as an outpatient, you’re likely to experience some withdrawal symptom like tremors, fever, anxiety, headaches. But we’ll be keeping a close eye on you,” Farmeth says.

“Doesn’t sound fun.”

“I don’t think it will be, but we’ll be here with you,” Athos says.

“Ok.” Aramis nods. His eyes close briefly as the conversation is taking up the last of his reserves.

“It may be a day or more before you start feeling any of the withdrawal symptoms, but you should let us know once you do,” Farmeth says as he readies the syringes. It was quite a cocktail that Leslie had prescribed for Aramis and stepping down off of all of them at the same time wasn’t going to be easy. As he injects each into the IV port, Aramis dozes off.

“Once he starts feeling some of the side effects, will you be able to give him medication to help,” Treville asks. “Like if his nausea is so bad that he can’t work through it or if he is in a lot of pain?”

“As a last resort. His body’s been taxed with the Ganizin, so I do want to be careful with the drugs that might cause him more harm.”

“So, he’s going to have to ride a lot of it out,” Athos says, sighing heavily. He’s not sure he has the energy to deal with Aramis going through a detox.

“If his symptoms become unmanageable, then I’ll authorize drugs to help ease the symptoms, but, yes, I do want him to ride out as much as he can without medication. My goal is to limit further damage to his organs. His liver and kidneys have been taxed already with the Ganizin overdoses. It’s why I’m keeping him here in the ICU where he can be closely monitored. We’ll catch any signs of something serious quicker than in a regular room.”

“Okay.” Athos doesn’t like the plan, but he understands.

“We’ll be here with him,” Treville says. “That’s the important thing.”

“It is and it will help him,” Farmeth says. “He’ll get through this. He’s made it through the hardest part, the Ganzin withdrawal and it’s immediate effects.”

Farmeth leaves them shortly after that, having rounds to complete. As soon as the doctor is out of the room, Athos sinks back in one of the chairs, sighing loudly. Treville thinks that it might wake Aramis but the man sleeps through. He turns to address Athos, to ask him how he’s doing but finds the sight of the man proof enough that he’s not doing alright. So focused have they been on Aramis that they seem to have lost sight of Athos. The man is wearing the same clothes as yesterday. He’s pale with dark circles under his eyes and a thinning face.

“You’re out of here for the next few days at least,” Treville says abruptly.

“What?” Athos looks at him quickly, nearly falling out of the chair as his balance is thrown. Treville throws out an arm to catch him, steadying him until he’s more stable.

“You need to take some time for yourself. I should’ve noticed sooner. I’m sorry.”

“No, no. I’m fine. I need to be here. He needs me, us.”

“Yes, he needs us and you’re a part of that but he also needs us healthy and you’re making a dangerous slide, Athos.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s just a little blip. Nothing like him.”

“You know that we don’t compare illnesses like that. And it’s more than a little blip. When was the last time you got at least six straight hours of sleep?”

“We’ve all been missing sleep. You’re exhausted, too.”

“Yes, but I’ve been getting more than a few hours of sleep in one night. How about you? Your insomnia is back, isn’t it?”

“How am I supposed to sleep with him in here?” Athos points to Aramis, frustration clear in his tone. Treville knows that it’s not aimed at the ill man but at Athos himself.

“You’re not to blame for any of this. None of us are.”

“Can you really sleep after you tell yourself that?” Athos looks directly at him, a firm glare in his eyes.

Treville sighs.

“I didn’t think so,” Athos says, vaguely triumphant. “We did this to him along with Megan and Leslie. I know what the evidence says. I know logically we tried to help him but we did this to him.”

“There’s blame to go around, Athos, but right now that needs to be put aside. Aramis wouldn’t want you beating yourself up over this.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. He’ll come to understand. Once he’s better and we have the chance to explain, he’ll understand. Now, you’re to go home and take care of yourself. If you don’t, if I find out from Susana and Porthos that you’re not resting, then you’ll be banned from here for longer.”

“He’s going to wonder where I am,” Athos counters.

“We’ll explain it to him.” Treville expects that Aramis is likely not to question the absence much. He’s still in a fog of confusion often and doesn’t always remember who’s visited him and what’s been said.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos and d'Artagnan have a talk and more news about the investigation comes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Issa for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.
> 
> I don't know when the next chapter will be coming. I know that it will though because I will finish this story. I won't give any excuses, but if you want an explanation of the delay, it's at the bottom.

Athos doesn’t have to spend the entirety of the next few days at home, nor at work. Treville relents a little and lets him visit Aramis for an hour though it’s not a terribly pleasant time with Aramis going through the beginning stages of withdrawal; he is feverish, achy, and shaky with tremors. Still, he sits with him during that hour, trying to distract him and putting up with his irritation. He feels guilty for enjoying being at home.

It’s not just that he’s glad to be away from the hospital, it’s that he’s away from Aramis. With the distance, he can forget some about how sick and miserable Aramis looks, the paleness, loss of weight, breathing issues, and persistent nausea. And it’s a relief. Just being here makes him feel like he can breathe easily again. He’s not cured of his insomnia and depression, but it is eased some. He tries to get back to some sort of routine, going to bed at a specific time to sleep and getting up in the morning for work. It works, somewhat.

“How’re things going,” d’Artagnan asks as he settles down on the couch. He’s been at the hospital with Aramis for the last several hours. Athos was there in the morning before going into work. He hadn’t been able to sleep anyway, so he decided to take his hour with Aramis in the morning. It’d been just as unpleasant as before with Aramis sick with detox and miserable.

“Same as usual, I guess,” Athos says.

“Not doing any better then?”

“Some. It’s a slow process.”

“I’m glad that you took some time away from the hospital. I could see that it was really getting to you being there all the time,” d’Artagnan says.

“Yeah.” Athos looks away, playing with the remote in his hands.

“You know that he’s fine, don’t you? Someone’s always there and he’s so sick with the detox right now that he’s not been doing much other than moaning and complaining. He’s not even said anything about his family being there.”

“Yeah, I’ve been getting regular updates from everyone since I’m not allowed there for more than an hour. They seem to want me to stay in the loop.”

“Must be kind of nice to be banned,” d’Artagnan says.

“What do you mean? I don’t mind sitting with Aramis. He’s our friend.”

“I mean it’s exhausting and, frankly, nerve-wracking to sit there every day for several hours. I never know if he’s going to have some sort of major issue come up like another seizure or a panic attack I can’t do anything to solve or a flashback that I don’t understand.”

“You know, you can stay home, too, if you want,” Athos says.

“Can, yes, but should, no.”

“No one will hold it against you if you need to take a break from being at the hospital. It’s tiring.”

“I think we both know the real problem isn’t other people but ourselves.”

“True.” Athos chuckles lightly. “Would you like me to order you to stay home, d’Artagnan?”

“No, not yet. I’m fine. I think.” d’Artagnan is silent for a moment, thinking. “I know that I’m not Aramis or Porthos, but you can talk with me if you need to.”

“It’s not that you’re not them, d’Artagnan. I have no problem talking with you.”

“Then why have you been so quiet the last week? And when one of us tries to talk with you, you leave.”

“Nothing’s wrong, d’Artagnan.”

“As Porthos would say, bullshit. You’ve got something on your mind and I’m guessing that it’s guilt.”

“What makes you say that?” Athos steadfastly looks away from d’Artagnan.

“It’s the theme of the week and every day it seems we get some new information that just makes it worse.”

“So, what’s your point?”

“That perhaps you need to talk about it seeing as it’s eating you up. It can’t be good to keep it all in. I’m sure Aramis would’ve pulled it out of you by now.”

“Probably but he won’t ever again,” Athos says.

“He is getting better, Athos. Right now it’s pretty terrible, but he’s getting better.”

“I know that, d’Artagnan. I know that he’s getting better and once he is, he’ll make his decision and that’s the end of it.”

“He’s not going to leave. He’ll understand.”

“Don’t tell me that you believe that. This is serious, as bad as what Marsac did to him, He’d have every right to leave us and not come back.”

“It’s not that bad, Athos. It’s just your mind telling you that. And, do you want him to leave?”

“No.”

“Then we have to fight for him to stay. We have to get him to realize that we honestly looked but couldn’t find anything. He has to come to see that everything we did, we thought we were doing for his benefit, even though it turned out to hurt him.”

Athos sighs loudly and gets up to leave. As he passes by d’Artagnan, the younger man grabs his wrist.

“Leave me go, d’Artagnan. You don’t understand.”

“Because I’m new? Because I’m the youngest? Stay here and talk to me, Athos. You need to talk it out.”

“I don’t need to and definitely not with you.” Athos tries to put as much heat into the words as he can, but he’s sure that he falls short in his exhaustion.

“I may be the low man on the totem pole, but I’m not stupid, Athos. I know that the longer you keep this in, the more it’s going to eat at you and if you’re not going to talk to anyone about it, then someone is going to have to convince you to.”

“It has nothing to do with you, d’Artagnan. I just don’t… It’s not something I feel like talking about.”

At that, d’Artagnan lets go of Athos, who immediately resumes leaving. As he reaches the door, d’Artagnan speaks quietly.

“Just because you’re team leader, doesn’t mean you take all of the blame, Athos.”

Athos stops, leaning against the door heavily. He doesn’t look back.

“I advised Treville to stop searching. I told him that we needed to look at getting Aramis help. I told him it was his depression and PTSD flaring up again, causing him to be paranoid and see things.”

“But didn’t you also convince Treville to give Aramis another chance before putting him on leave? And you did more looking into the stalker than any of us did. You gave him the benefit of the doubt as long as you could, Athos.”

“Doesn’t really seem to make up for the decisions I did make that put him in this spot.”

“Did you purposely find a psychiatrist who prescribed him a drug concoction that would make his illnesses worse?”

“No, of course not. We had no idea.”

“And did you make sure he was sick enough that he’d wind up in the ICU at Megan’s mercy?”

“I probably could’ve looked in on him more but no.” Athos sighs. “I get your point, d’Artagnan and I’ve been over these points with myself, but it doesn’t really help the guilt or the depression.”

“Then I’ll keep repeating them for you as much as you need until they do start helping. It’s what you do for Aramis, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Athos says, appreciative of d’Artagnan’s care and persistence.

“Any time, Athos. Anytime.”

“I think I’m going to head up and try to sleep.”

“Okay. Treville’s coming by later with some food Sarah cooked up. I’ll wake you for dinner.”

Athos nods, knowing that he won’t be hungry or have slept, but that he’ll try both because he has to. Over the next few days, Athos sleeps a little more than he has been, tries to eat what Sarah brings over or Susana makes, and he talks with d’Artagnan. It’s not much like his talks with Aramis, but it’s helpful. And he likes that sometimes d’Artagnan is just quiet.

It’s a Tuesday evening when Athos finds himself back at the hospital sitting with Aramis, who is in the middle of a rather lucid phase though he’s curled on his side, arms wrapped around his stomach as he works through repeated bouts of nausea that have plagued him much of the day. Farmeth did another step down in the drugs yesterday, and the effects seem to be worse than last week or perhaps Athos wasn’t as with it then to notice. He’s enjoyed the break from sitting with Aramis, even if the guilt is still there.

“Why, ‘thos?” Aramis’ question is more of a groan and Athos barely hears it through the blankets that cover Aramis’ shivering body.

“You’ll get through it, ‘Mis. You’re already a week in.”

“No… Stop it.”

“You can’t. You have to keep up with the detox or you won’t get better.” He reaches a hand under the blankets to find Aramis’, massaging the palm gently to try to calm him.

“Then something for this?”

“You have to wait it out a little bit longer, remember? Farmeth wants to see if you can work through the detox with minimal additional drugs. Your body’s already working overtime with all of the drugs. More might damage it.” Athos doesn’t know how much Aramis remembers from Farmeth’s talks with him. Some of it is the sickness from detox affecting his memory, but some of it, they fear despite Farmeth’s assurances to the contrary, is the lingering effects of his poisoning. As the days pass, Athos can’t help worrying about what long-term effects Aramis will face from the poisoning. Lung and heart damage were one thing, but memory issues could be a serious issue and put Aramis on disability for life, which Aramis would never mentally recover from. They’d lose him to depression.

Aramis cries into the pillow, groaning as he pulls his hand back. Athos doesn’t let go and feels the heat coming off Aramis as the clenching of his stomach with the waves of nausea. It’s been a while since he’s seen the younger man so miserable and it tears at him. He quickly stands and unlocks the side of the bed to put the railing down.

“Move over a little, ‘Mis. Backwards.”

Aramis looks up blearily, a question in his eyes until he slowly puts together what Athos plans to do and shifts back with a grimace. Athos gently sits down on the edge and puts a hand on Aramis’ back, rubbing it gently. The other hand is still intertwined with Aramis’. Slowly, Aramis moves closer, curling his body around Athos as he takes comfort in the man’s steady presence. Over the next hour, there’s a slight lessening of tension in Aramis’ body, but Athos can see that the nausea is still there. He feels the heat and tremors, both from the detox and the chills. Aramis, for his part, is quiet save for groans as new waves hit, catching him off guard.

“How’s he doing,” Porthos asks as he enters the room.

“’Mis, you feel like answering,” Athos asks quietly. Porthos doesn’t see him shake his head but Athos does. “He’s awake but still really sick. The nausea won’t go away.”

“Have you thrown up, ‘Mis,” Porthos asks, taking the seat Athos abandoned when he sat on the bed.

Aramis shakes his head slightly, curling in tighter around Athos and under the covers.

“He’s just been quite miserable for the last hour and sometime before that Maria said.” Athos keeps up rubbing his back, hoping that even if it doesn’t ease the nausea at all, Aramis can find some comfort in his presence. It’s worked before.

“It should settle out in the next couple days.”

Aramis groans loudly at that.

“And maybe we talk to Farmeth about giving him a week off from the next step down,” Athos says.

“I think it’s better to just get him off the drugs as quickly as possible. We should just let him go ahead with it,” Porthos counters.

“Do you think Aramis can really handle another week of this? Especially if next week is worse.”

“Still… here,” Aramis says weakly.

“We’re just trying to do what’s best for you,” Porthos says.

“Sorry. I… I know. S…sorry.”

Athos feels a wave of guilt at Aramis’ apologies. They’ve yet to tell Aramis about Megan and Leslie. He doesn’t know that they put him in this position, that it was Athos’ decisions that led him down this path of misery.

“We’ll leave it up to Farmeth,” Porthos says. “But for now, Athos, it’s time for you to head home. Treville’s outside.”

Athos nods but doesn’t get up. He’s comfortable and he can see that Aramis is somewhat, too.

“Athos, you need to get going. Treville’s waiting to take you home, then he can head home.”

“Okay.” Athos nods and this time gets up reluctantly. Aramis quickly rolls over more into the empty space and Athos replaces the covers that were dislodged in his movement. “Try to get some rest, Aramis,” he says. “Remember that you’re stronger than you think and you’ve always got us to lean on when you need. Okay?” He gives Aramis’ hand a quick squeeze, seeing the man nod slightly before he leaves.

Out in the hall is Treville, pacing as he talks on the phone. His face is grim as he talks. Athos waits patiently, trying not to listen to the one-sided conversation because he knows it won’t shed any light on what’s going on. Still, he can’t help overhearing enough to piece together that he’s talking with the Libertyville police chief, which means it must be something about the case and judging by the increasingly angry look on his face, it can’t be good.

“What’s going on,” Athos asks once Treville’s finished with the call.

“Not here,” he answers tersely and starts walking to the elevator without comment. The ride down to the parking lot is tense and Athos finds himself wanting to get to the car quicker to find out what’s gone on.

Once in the car, Treville takes a deep breath. “They found another link.”

“To who?”

“Marsac.”

“What? How? He’s in jail still, I thought.”

“You know that Leslie and Megan are half-sisters. Marsac is their brother. Well, technically he and Megan are step-siblings. They share the same mother. Leslie’s only related to Megan, but they’re family.”

“Was he behind it?”

“They don’t know. The sheriff is working to get an interview with him, but his lawyer is being difficult and the sisters aren’t giving anything up. It’s going to take more time until we find the motivation. But…”

“This is bad. Really bad,” Athos says.

“Yeah.”

“Aramis can’t know.”

“He doesn’t know anything else, so of course not.”

“No, this will set him back further. He’s having a hard time with the detox. We can’t let him know about Marsac’s involvement at all. Not until he’s better and able to deal with it,” Athos says.

“If you think that’s best. It could give him some resolution so he can get better.”

“It won’t help him. You know that as well as me. He’ll just go back to the massacre and we’ll lose him down a well of depression and probably not get him back this time.”

Treville sighs. “You’re right. A little dramatic, perhaps, but you’re right. We’ll keep this between us and the others. Susana and her daughters should know though.”

“We’ll keep them updated, but for now let’s just tell them that there’s been some progress, but we’re waiting for more information. They already are having a tough time with Aramis panicking sometimes when they’re around. Let’s not put more on them right now.”

“You want to lie to them?”

“Do you want them to have to keep this from Aramis? Think of the burden it’ll put on them.”

“I think they could handle it, but I’ll agree to keep it from them for a few days. After that, we’ll revisit it,” Treville says.

As Athos and Treville tell the others about the recent development, the reactions are on par with their own and they readily agree that Aramis shouldn’t be told yet. It’s Constance and d’Artagnan who argue the strongest that Susana should be told. They’re at the Inseparables’ house preparing meals for the next few days when the issue comes up again.

“There’s no reason not to tell them,” Constance says.

“Athos and the Captain think that it’s a good idea to not let them know and I happen to agree,” Porthos says. He’s stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce, adding spices as he tastes it to get the right flavor.

“I don’t see the harm in them knowing,” d’Artagnan says as he cuts up vegetables. “They’ll probably agree with not telling Aramis, especially with how miserable he is.”

“I don’t know.” Porthos shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t think they’re going to keep it a secret for much longer. The Captain’s a bit worried about angering Susana again, I think.”

“And he should be. It’s wrong what they’re doing. I can see not telling Aramis, but Susana and his sisters? That’s not right.” Constance shakes her head in dismay. She pulls the cookie dough from the fridge to start getting the cookies ready to go into the oven.

“What’s not right,” a familiar voice asks from the doorway. It’s Maria. The three of them look up at her with blank, panicked looks. “I was tired of sitting there seeing my brother so sick and being able to do nothing about it, so I decided to come here and help you guys,” she explains when she sees their confusion. “Now, what’s not right? Something that you’re not telling us? Is it about his case? They’re not getting off scot-free, are they?”

“Porthos, you get to answer this because me and d’Artagnan aren’t on your guys’ side,” Constance says, giving Porthos a challenging look. Porthos sighs heavily.

“No. They’re not getting off,” he says.

“Then what? Tell me,” Maria says.

“We didn’t say anything to you guys because you didn’t need the extra worry.”

“Stop giving excuses and tell me or I’ll ask Constance to tell me the truth.”

“The sisters are related to Marsac,” Porthos says quickly.

“Marsac? That piece of shit who ruined my brother’s life? He’s involved in this?”

“We don’t know. He’s related to Megan by their mother. The motive is still unknown. The sisters aren’t giving up anything and his lawyer is being difficult in arranging an interview.”

“He’s involved. I know he is. He ruined my brother’s life because he wanted to hook up with some woman instead of lead that mission.” Her anger grows as she speaks. “And you were going to keep this from us? For how long?”

“Not long. It wouldn’t do good for Aramis to know and we didn’t want you to have to keep it a secret from him.”

“Well, I agree with Aramis not needing to know at the moment. He’s not in the right frame of mind to know.” Maria takes a steadying breath. “But, you have to stop making decisions for the rest of us. We would’ve kept it from him without a problem. And mom would’ve agreed.”

“Sorry,” Porthos says. “I’ll let Treville know to tell her.”

“No, I’ll talk to them later and I won’t tell them that you’ve kept this from them. But if you do it again, I won’t be so kind. Okay?”

“Of course. And, again. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. Now, where can I help. I’m tired of sitting around talking.”

“Well, you can help me with the cookies,” Constance says. “Or help d’Artagnan with cutting up fruits and veggies for the week.”

“Hand me a knife and I’ll get started on these carrots,” Maria says. She sheds her jacket and steps up to the island next to d’Artagnan to start working. As Constance and d’Artagnan get her set up, Porthos sends a quick text to Athos and Treville to let them know what’s happened. They’ve gotten lucky with Maria being understanding and he doesn’t want a slip up to cause problems.

Porthos sets the sauce to simmer, covering it with a lid and gets to work sautéing the onions d’Artagnan’s cut up for him. Some part of Porthos isn’t surprised that Marsac might be involved. Once they found out that Megan and Leslie were behind the scheme to make Aramis think he was losing his mind, he’d thought that this was the perfect sort of scheme for Marsac to be involved in. They’d gone to Marsac’s trial. Throughout the whole case, the man had given Aramis looming, dangerous looks. He’d even managed to get close to Aramis, whispering something in the man’s ear that he’d never told any of them to Porthos’ knowledge. Though Marsac had been quickly pulled away, the damage to Aramis was done. Whatever had been said, it’d set off the worst of Aramis’ depression, which ultimately led to him nearly being institutionalized for serious depression and suicide.

Telling Aramis about Marsac’s involvement had to be done carefully. If Porthos had his way, he wouldn’t ever let Aramis know. Even if Marsac wasn’t directly involved, the idea that it was his siblings who’d orchestrated his misery and illness would be enough to disrupt his life. They might have won this battle, but the effects could lead to the end of the war for Aramis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a month off from writing this story to get a break. It's intense and I needed something less intense. One month led to another and then life hit. My mental health took a hit recently and, while I'm coming back to my normal level, finding inspiration to continue on with the story is difficult. I know that every week I go without posting, I'm losing the few readers I do have, but I hope you'll stick with me on the story. This isn't an excuse, but I felt you deserved some explanation for why the updates have been so infrequent. I'm fine; my mental health is like Athos'; it cycles and I usually just have to do what I can and wait for an upswing.


End file.
